Skull
by PanicButton
Summary: A strange skull... digging in a cemetery... madness, murder, maybe slash... a resurrection is planned... Rated M for language, possible slash and general nasty stuff.
1. Chapter 1

**SKULL**

_He alone can believe in immortality who feels the resurrection in him already – Frederick W Robertson._

A Bit of Back Story

He didn't care if they gave him _those looks_. He ignored the stares and the muttered noises coming from the people. What was it to them what he looked like or how he twitched? Not their business. The boy – if you could call him that – he wouldn't mind, call him what you want... as said, he's not paying attention to what people are muttering. He looks to be about sixteen though, a skinny, dirty kid with shoulder length raven black hair. From the back you'd expect his skin to be coffee coloured to match that, but no... Sam's face was as though it had never seen the sun before. He had eyes to match the darkness of his hair, though one of those eyes did seem to look closer to his nose than the other eye. His small and maybe under-developed nose and his full lips set a strange appearance of a teenager who could maybe be a boy – or maybe be a girl – and the way he was dressed, because it _was_ a boy – sort of a boy – didn't give any clues. He had on baggy bib and braces. The legs rolled up to just below his knees... on his feet he had a pair of very battered leather, lace up boots. Under the bib and braces he had on a faded orange Tshirt. There was a very old leather bag over his shoulder.

For now he was hunkered down on a bench. There was a row of wooden benches here in the square and each one had a small brass plaque dedicated to someone – who that was he didn't know, he'd not bothered to look at it. Never would bother. Things like that were of no interest to Sam. He could feel the heel of his boots through the soft denim covering his behind. His arms were wrapped tightly around him. He was looking out over the square towards a big building the other side... behind bushes and fancy trees... beyond the pigeons... shouting birds... screaming obscenities at him – again ignored – behind the low stone wall with black iron railings... there were the steps to a museum... eight dark stone steps. To the right was a ramp, but Sam was looking at the steps, sniffing and wondering if he could get across the square without the birds attacking him, without the statues coming to life; and one of them was holding a gun, one of them a sword high in his hand. Sam twitched and glanced at them. Damned things! Covered in pigeon shit. Covered in grime... Sam knew that they were slippery too, sitting there on their pedestals, sitting there looking down at him; staring at him, trying to force him to leave.

Sam unwound an arm from his chest and rubbed at a place just above the eye which wasn't working properly. He'd been getting bad headaches... every day worse than the one before and short of getting hold of some hard drugs, he didn't think it was going to go away. He was sure that he could feel it there throbbing in his brain. Something alive. Something bad. It made his eyes water and made his vision blur and that meant that he couldn't see those steps way across the square quite as easily as he could earlier.

It was raining. Sam licked his lips and gradually uncurled from where he was crouched. It was mid day... and though it was mid December, he was still dressed as though it was summer. He stood, patted his bag, rubbed at his head and slowly walked towards a café with tables set up outside. No one was using them. The usual summer things were missing. There was no menu standing there in a cheap plastic stand. This would mean going in the place and ordering at the counter, and Sam didn't want to have to do that.

They would know.

They would sense it.

They would smell it on him.

Sam rubbed hard at his inner arms. In this dull winter light the scars didn't show up so much. Not that he was ashamed of his scars.

Some done with a little red handled razor.

Some done with the end of a cigarette.

Some done with broken glass, a bit of rusty wire, needles... oh he had plenty of old track marks.

But NOTE: They are old! He would defend that to his dying breath. He'd not injected anything into his arms in years!

And you'd look at his face... that face which didn't grow hair... that face of a teenaged boy and wonder, just wonder...

And Sam didn't like to be wondered about. But he wanted coffee. He wanted sweet hot coffee. He wanted coffee with ground up painkillers in it, but he didn't think they sold that sort. He wanted it injected directly into his veins.

'Dirty whore.'

Sam spun around and looked at the pigeon sitting where he'd recently been crouched.

'Can smell your filth from here. Cum dumpster.' Sam twitched and folded his arms around himself again. He wanted to shout at the bird to go away and leave him alone, but he still wasn't sure if he'd really heard those words. 'Been crying because you lost your fuckbunny?' Sam shook his head and turned his back on it.

What would a pigeon know about his losses and his life? What the fuck would a damned pigeon know about this morning when he thought he was never going to stop crying again. Bastard bird wouldn't know that, now would it? Sam spun around, to grab at the vermin and tear off its head, but the thing was already gone.

If it had ever been there.

Sam wasn't so sure now.

His mind had a habit of playing tricks on him.

Decision was made though. He was going to have a busy evening and he couldn't turn up looking like he'd not had a fix in weeks... months. It had been months... or had it only been days? He wasn't quite as sure about that either. Time seemed to slip between his fingers like...

'Can I help you?'

His thoughts interrupted by the girl behind the counter. The ordinary looking young woman with brown hair tied back and a white pinny over a black blouse and trousers. Sam wanted to reach over and squeeze her tits. His fingers tingled with the thought, but he instead placed them on the counter top. 'Black coffee. Four extra shots.' He didn't say please. It hurt enough saying what he had... saying more might have brought on a nose bleed. He didn't want to bleed everywhere again. Last time that happened there was such a fuss made! They had to call an ambulance and they kept asking Sam questions they had no right to ask. Damn them.

Because of the rain, Sam sat inside. He found a small table near to the window, right next to the window. A dead fly was laying on the sill. He thought to say something, but picked it up and slipped it between his lips when no one was looking. He washed it down with coffee so hot that his mouth must have been lined with lead. Sam tasted the sweetness rush over his tongue... he could smell the strong coffee wafting up his nose. He wondered if he could have had a more – acceptable – job working in a place like this.

From the window he could see the steps to the museum. There were birds standing sentry there... walking back, forth, back, forth... 'And fuck you!' Sam was on his feet and the coffee mug sliding out of his hands. 'Damn and fuck!' He pulled a note out of his pocket and threw it down onto the table. The puddle of coffee was on the floor and a tall man from some southern European country was marching towards him.

Wasn't the first time something like this had happened. Might not be the last, but Sam knew that the best thing to do now was just to leave. There was coffee down the left leg of his denims and over the pale skin of his leg. He snatched the door open and flew out into the square, at a run, heading towards the steps of the museum.

People from the shop stood at the door and watched.

'I could tell by his eyes. Something wrong with his eyes.' The girl in the pinny said.

'Damned scum. I've seen him, hanging around the square. Day after day. He tried climbing that.' He pointed at the nearest statue. 'Would think it hard to pick pockets up there.'

The girl laughed, but they were both watching his retreat and his form racing up the steps. They didn't notice the birds... Sam did... Sam waved them out of the way.

'I fucking dare you!' He howled at them... and they didn't dare. At least not that day.

The man at the museum doors was shaking his head before Sam even stopped from his run.

'I've told you before.'

'I'm waiting for a reply to my letter.' Sam told him. 'Is there a letter for me?'

'This is a museum, not a post office.' He smirked back.

'But I wrote to Professor Lythum about something. I said that I'd come here and...'

Again, like earlier on, Sam was cut short. 'There's no letter for you. There's nothing here for you. Why don't you go home, kid?'

Sam bit on his bottom lip and sighed. 'OK... what do you want? What can I offer you to let me in?'

'After last time? The fuss you made?'

Sam pulled his bag around and dug down deep into the bottom. He pulled out a photograph and showed it to the man. 'I can get more like this.'

But judging by the look of horror on the man's face, naked photos wasn't what he wanted. Sam turned and walked away. He had no time now to pursue this further. He had to get ready for work. Tomorrow he'd be back. Rain or shine.

There was a small shop with buckets of crappy goods on sale outside the window. One of those buckets held see through plastic capes. Sam got one for less than a pound and slipped it over his shoulders. Not that it mattered. He was wet and dirty now. He'd have to have a shower at the very least.

Looking back now, Sam felt that he should have had a smile on his face that day. The evening had gone well. There are weird people around, but if someone wanted him to dress in a little skirt and a cropped top, to take photos, then he was game. Sam was actually game for anything. Perverts didn't bother him.

'Bend over – lean back – lift the skirt at the back – lift it at the front – show me something.'

These were all said over and over by different people and Sam kept whatever expression on his face which was desired. The photographer didn't want sex. He just wanted pictures to sell on to people who were too afraid to come and look at flesh. Creeps who had little attic rooms with dirty pictures pinned up on the rafters. Dirty old men and women, who had tanked out basements with the walls covered in photos which no normal person would want... but if these weird people wanted them, Sam was happy to take the money. Sam knew what photographers wanted... flick of the hair, that sideways glance, hands touching, teeth showing... a tip of the tongue... a glimpse of something under the clothing. Sometimes he was dressed as a boy. Sometimes as a girl. Sometimes he had no clothes at all, but Sam didn't mind. He was happy that people liked what they saw and though they might be creeps and perverts, Sam got off on the idea that the pictures were touched with shaking fingers and pressed against sweaty bodies.

Another day it might be something different. He was just as happy to entertain in other ways.

'Let me help you off with that.' A sly sideways smile. 'I will help you relax. I can show you... Has anyone told you what lovely eyes you have? Here, mister, let me show you what to do with that.'

A good whore knew what to do with his hands, where to put his fingers, how much moisture to share. A good whore could get even the most nervous, raging with a cockstand he'd never had before... and Sam considered himself a good little whore.

But that was last week, the week before... before his trip to Highgate. Before that urge compelled him to start digging at one of the graves... Before security was called and he was dragged away screaming... it was before he smashed the glass in a museum display case and took the skull which _really shouldn't have been there! _It was before now and _now_ wasn't where Sam wanted to be.

They had slipped the screaming, muddy, writhing boy in a cell. They'd slammed the door and stood there listening to the raving cries of the lad who had been digging up a grave in Highgate, though how he'd got in with digging tools in his hands, they didn't know. Someone was going to be in trouble... someone other than the person the other side of the cell door... screaming that he had to go. That they can't lock him up... Oh yes they could! - Hammering on the door and pleading with them to let him out.

'It's so close! So close! You can't stop me now!'

But they had stopped him.

They thought he was high. They thought he was on drugs. Tomorrow when he was calmer they'd talk to him. He had tried to bite anyone who got close enough. He'd spat at people... screamed and wailed and cried that they didn't understand what they were doing.

There was a small, very small... so small that it didn't notice, amount of pity. The lad was obviously ill... They decided that the following day when they took him some toast and coffee and he threw it at them and then dipped down into the stainless steel toilet and hooked out something vile and threw that at them too.

They called a doctor who suggested that the boy was insane. They held him down and took blood... they forced his mouth open to look at his teeth, which appeared to have been filed down at some point. They were razor sharp. They told him he could have a shower. Gave him some jeans and a blue Tshirt to wear. Asked him his name. Asked him what he had been doing.

'Digging up my friend.' Sam had told them. 'He needs his head back.'

But he'd not give them his name.

'Giving a stranger you name is giving them access to part of your spirit. They can use it against you. They can cast spells and debauch your mind. I'm not telling you my name.'

They wanted to know about photographs he had in his bag.

Sam's mouth went from a serious smirk to a tight white line under his nose. He didn't want to talk about it and they had no right to go looking through his bag.

They wanted to know why he had a collection of pamphlets and newspaper cuttings about _The Mystery Skull_ which just so happens to have to stolen from the museum.

Sam blinked but didn't react beyond that.

They wanted to know if it was him who had smashed the display cabinet and made off with a priceless relic and did this have anything to do with the grave he had desecrated?

He spoke at that point. 'I didn't thieve it. I didn't desecrate anything. It didn't belong to the museum. It wasn't theirs to have in the first place.' And then he shut up again. He had tried not to speak about it. He'd tried to keep quiet, but they were being so stupid! Why couldn't they see that?

And though they asked where the skull was now, Sam refused to answer. He told them that he thought maybe he needed a lawyer... he thought he'd said too much. He said he had a headache and wanted to go to sleep. He wanted to go home. He wanted some warm milk and some pills to help the pain. He wanted to have his own clothes back... Apparently they were being washed for him... He sat and rested his head on the table he was sitting in front of. They asked him how old he was... he didn't answer.

Then they asked a question which made Sam's head spin and he slid from the chair onto the floor with a groan and a cry.

'Who castrated you?'

That was all last week now. They'd kept him in his cell. They'd said lots of long words to him which he didn't want to listen to. There were creatures on the floor of the cell...

'So small that you can't see them.' He told the police man who was standing there looking at Sam crawling around on the floor. 'But I can hear them. They tell me all sorts of secrets... They say that special people are coming to talk to me.' Sam pushed up so that he was kneeling, wiping something away on the floor with one hand. 'Is that true? You sent for someone else?' He moved his hand to rub at his head. They had noted that he did that a lot. Always rubbing at his groin or his head. They'd not asked about his mutilation again. But during one of Sam's _away_ times... and he seemed to have quite a lot of them, they'd called a doctor who said that the scar was old... That Sam had been castrated years ago... he doubted that the lad could remember what it was like before. He couldn't say if it was done for medical reasons... The policeman standing at the door couldn't say if they'd called for someone to talk to Sam, but the man said that they knew his name.

'My name?' Sam stood now, wincing slightly and rising up to tip toes. He moved quickly and slid onto his bed. 'You don't know my name.' He told him. 'I've not told you my name.'

That was back then though. That was after he'd smeared his cell with shit. It was after he'd pissed in his bed every night for a week. It was after he'd tried to bite everyone who came near to him... his only comfort for now was the voice in the wall.

_Stay calm. Everything will be good. _

It kept telling him that. And Sam laid there in the dim lights at night and listened to that voice.

As far as Sam was aware, they'd not charged him with anything, yet when he started screaming and hammering on the door again and telling them that he was dying and they had to let him go... and he had things to do... places to go... they told him... they told him something, but he didn't stop shouting at them long enough to hear what they were saying.

Oh and he was sure they were drugging his food, so he stopped eating.

They started drugging the water in the little bottles... he wasn't sure how, because they still had a little seal on the lid but he knew... oh he knew. So he refused to drink that, and licked the little creatures off the floor and drank from the toilet... at least until that made him ill and his lips got blisters and his nose started to bleed... terrible nose bleeds... so terrible that a doctor was called.

'He should be in hospital.' The doctor had said as they pulled Sam off him, pulling his fingers back out of the nice Indian doctor's hair. 'There's something seriously wrong with him.'

And now it was today. They took him out of his cell and down a beige corridor and through a door into a room with walls made of little holes. There was a recording machine attached to the table and Sam was sure he could see eyes looking at him through the tiny, tiny holes all over the wall. They asked if he would sit still or if they needed to tie him down. Sam responded by telling them that there were worms in the walls and they were going to eat his brain.

Again they asked him about the skull and again he twitched and wriggled and didn't tell them a thing. They asked him about what he was doing at Highgate Cemetery and Sam sniffed and wiped tears – false of not, it looked good – and he shook his head sadly. He couldn't tell them because they simply would not understand. They gave him a drink of orange juice. They'd caught on finally that coke made him scream and bounce off the walls and coffee was often thrown at people... fruit juice was harmless.

The room had a window... one of those windows he couldn't see out of but the people the other side could see in and there were always people there watching. Always. Nosy people wanting to see the kid throw his toys out of the pram, but today he could smell it. The stink of something which had come and found him after... how long? - Sam couldn't remember how long it had been... longer than life for most people... longer than anyone could imagine.

He looked around for a clock, sitting firmly on his hands so as not to rub at that place throb, throb, throbbing... always there picking at the inside of his skull. It made his bad eye water... unless he just let it all go and let the voices take over, but something special was happening today and the voices had to stay away.

'Worms in the walls.' He muttered.

'The walls?'

Sam nodded at the wall and licked his lips. 'The holes have worms in them... chewing at the wood. Can't you hear it. I can. I can hear them chewing, swallowing, taking a crap... and they hear everything, _everything_... and at the cemetery, in the trees...' Sam blinked and stopped talking... He _had_ to be so careful!

'Do you want to tell me more about the cemetery, Sam?'

'No.' Sam leaned forwards and rested his head on the table. 'I'm tired. I want to go back to bed. I want to go home. I want you to let me go.'

'When we know what you've done with the skull.'

Sam twitched but said nothing. He was thinking of the cemetery... of the darkness, the rain which had been pelting down like it was Armageddon and like if he didn't do it real fast all would be lost. 'Tick tock... Watch the clock... wind it back and spring again.' Sam muttered to himself. The grave had been unmarked... unknown who lay there, but Sam knew; he could smell it. There plants growing wild around the small wooded area were laying low, it was winter after all, but around the grave there was nothing. The ground was dead and the death seemed to be spreading slowly... slowly, tendrils spreading out. Already a tree was dead, but maybe it would have died anyway. Up here in the woods there were only a few graves and only one which had no name on it. Someone had left a single red rose there, maybe a month or so back now. It was dead by the time Sam knelt there looking at the parched ground with no marker except for a large flat stone with FFF engraved into it. Well that's all Sam had needed... obviously. He had knelt there that first time until someone told him that the gates were going to be locked. He had to leave. He didn't realise at that time but he'd been crying.

It happened the next time he went... this time with a plan on how to get the skull back. That's all that was needed. Give Floyd back his head and he'll leap back into life again. Surely.

* * *

**a/n More to follow soon. **


	2. Chapter 2

Spencer's Story

Part One

It was a while ago now.

He'd lost all sense of time. Had it been years? It felt like it was, but he knew that it couldn't have been. Now standing the other side of the one way window and looking at what had dragged him all the way to London, he could feel that sickness pulling around his brain again. He'd had counselling. He'd seen doctors and more doctors and specialists in every field of mental slump. They had persuaded him that he'd spent much of his childhood and early adult life in a world made up in his head. They'd told him that his stories were delusions. That it was part of the _sickness_, but Spencer knew that he was not sick. Not in the way they thought. That teenaged boy sitting at the desk in that room... that was proof enough.

Spencer felt a throbbing headache pulsing up from the middle of his back and spiralling upwards, causing him to rub at the back of his neck. He felt the pain settle to a place at the top of his head and then sink slowly downwards. A flush of panic followed swiftly. He could feel the heat on his neck and sweeping up to his face. He broke out into a sweat causing him to itch in places it was not polite to scratch. He couldn't let Rossi know how just looking through his window was making him feel. He couldn't let Rossi know that he wished he had his gun at his side... that he'd draw it, and pull the trigger... three times... he thought probably that would be enough – three times through the window and through Sam's head – and once through his own. He couldn't go through this again. He fiddled with his brown leather belt, not knowing where to put the hands which wanted to kill Sam.

Reid could feel that Rossi was looking at him; listening to the way his breathing had changed. He could feel Rossi's eye boring into his head, trying to read his thoughts... definitely reading the panic in his demeanour. That _excited to be in London_ vibe had been ripped away when he looked through that window.

'Reid?'

That was Rossi talking to him. And frankly he didn't think he was going to be able to reply to him without letting him know what his real feelings were on this.

'Reid!'

A sharper call this time and a hand resting on his arm.

'I need some fresh air.' Spencer told him, and put his back to the window.

When had his mind finally been ripped asunder? Probably at some point last year. He'd been walking with Floyd... At least that's what he always thought, however much specialists tried to tell him that it was his imagination – he knew otherwise and he _had_ been walking with Floyd along a track in the woods.

Had it been any other place, Spencer might have eventually admitted that none of it was true, but it was the woods. He'd been back there. He'd seen the evidence of the nightmare.

Holding hands... Floyd had been talking to him about life and love and death and moving forwards. He'd talked to Spencer about how people change as they age... not always in a bad way, but they change. _You cannot fight it_ – They were Floyd's words as his finger tips massaged the back of Spencer's hand.

'I'm not trying to fight it.' He replied and pulled Floyd to a stop. 'Where are we going?' He had a feeling – a feeling that this was going to be his last walk with Floyd, or even his last walk ever.

'I'm going to release you, little birdy... let you fly.'

That made no sense... so surely it must have been real. 'I don't understand.' He stopped again and turned to face Floyd. 'What's going on?'

The reply was vicious. It was cruel. It was spite which came so naturally to Floyd. 'You're getting too old. I don't want – I cannot – I shan't – I'll not.' And he walked off dragging Spencer behind him.

'What won't you do?' Spencer sounded out of breath. These woodland walks always seemed to exhaust him. Too much fresh air... cold air. He shivered slightly but managed to keep up.

'If given orders, from your great and ever loving boss, Spencer, do you carry that order out, even if you feel that it's not quite right?'

Spencer tried to get Floyd to stop again. How many times had they been over this? And it still made absolutely no sense at all. 'I've disobeyed.' Spencer told him. 'I – I – I've...'

'Lied.' Floyd reminded Spencer. 'You've lied. Simple. Don't play word games. It's not necessary.' Said the man who loved word games, but loved mind games even more.

'Fine! I've lied. Yes, because I thought...'

'Always thinking. And where has it got you?' Spencer thought Floyd was going to say more, but he suddenly stopped. Pulled Spencer close and then turned a circle. Was that concern on his face. 'You know that I love you?'

Spencer knew that Floyd loved him in his own odd way. He felt Floyd's fingers running down his sides and then hooking into his waistband. That odd intense look on his face. The boring of his eyes, reading right down into his soul. Spencer nodded and put his own hands on Floyd's hips. 'I love you too.' He told him. But there had been a pause. A pause of a few seconds and that was long enough for it to stand out as though he'd screamed it...

'Lies.' Floyd said... moving his hands back up to Spencer's chest and pushing him back against a tree. 'Stand there. Don't move.'

'Facing the tree?' That would have been the normal next move. A bit of rough against a tree. But not this time. Floyd shook his head and turned his back to him.

'I can't do it.' Floyd was no longer talking to Spencer though. He was calling off into the cover of the trees. 'Show yourself!'

'Floyd?' Spencer whispered. He wanted to say more but that damned stutter seemed to grip his throat. 'W – w – wh...' Was all he managed to get out before Floyd told him to keep quiet.

'Just shut the fuck up, and make me a little promise.'

That was wrong. Very wrong. Floyd and promises never went together. He made one so rarely that Spencer didn't think he'd ever hear it again. 'Wha – w – wha -' and once more his mouth and brain refused to co-operate.

'Just promise you'll never forget me.' And Floyd was taking a step away.

Spencer's hands lashed out to grab him and pull him back, but they slipped away from the soft fabric on the back of his fancy waistcoat. 'I pr – I prom – I...' Was Floyd going to just walk away and abandon him here in the woods? Could he find his way back to the bike? Oh the bike... Spencer wasn't sure he'd be able to ride that back alone. Floyd had given him lessons... hysterically funny on Floyd's behalf and terrifying on Spencer's... he didn't think he'd make it back home – not alive.

What happened next was so surreal and wrong, that Spencer considered it for a while to be a nightmare. He did, for a few months, lay and stare at the ceiling and hear muffled voices around him and he did... really – think he was trapped in some world other than the one he was born into. His brain just refused to accept that what he saw was what had really happened. And, what a shocker! They – these experts refused to believe it too!

Spencer saw Floyd duck down and skip to the side, yet there seemed to be nothing there to move away from. He heard the rush of Floyd's breath leaving his lungs as though he'd been hit and he saw Floyd then fly backwards and lay there for a moment – not moving – was he even breathing? Spencer couldn't tell. Reid opened his mouth to call out and ask what was going on, but by the time all of this registered in Spencer's brain, Floyd was already on his feet.

'Spencer. Run.' And Floyd was again backing off and calling into the trees. 'RUN!' He then howled glancing in Spencer's direction... and that's what did it. Spencer's inability to run when he was told to. Spencer's stupid body refusing to do what Floyd was telling him to do.

_Hissssssssssssssss shu chu_

That was what Spencer heard. Floyd heard it too, because he looked away from Spencer in that last moment, towards where the sound had come from. And again... but closer... and there was a small _chunk click thwack_ and Spencer opened his mouth to shout something... maybe a warning? He can't remember now what it was – perhaps it had just been a normal scream that wanted to burst out of him.

Floyd for a moment didn't move. Then his legs folded under him and he toppled forwards into the leaf covered ground. A splatting sound... a very wrong sound. Floyd shouldn't make that noise.

There was a disturbance. Almost like a desert mirage, but this was a New England woodland, or forest and there had been frost that morning. That was no heat haze. Spencer moved a step away from the tree.

'He told you to run.' Someone said.

With the voice same a stink, which though Spencer wished he couldn't put a name to, he thought that maybe he could. It was of decay – fresh rotting bodies, left in the sunshine... a wet sort of smell. The sort of smell that got into your hair and between your toes. He could feel the bile rising in his throat as that strange haze moved towards Floyd who oddly hadn't moved since he'd flopped there onto his face.

'Don't you touch him!' The cry came from Spencer without a stutter... a straight forward and uninterrupted howl from brain to mouth.

'Or what, dog?'

Spencer knew that voice. He knew that oddly clipped accent. He knew who that was even before the wobbly haze turned into a black shadow and long before that shadow moved to Floyd and pulled his head back.

'Leave him alone!' Spencer moved forwards with all intention of killing whatever monster had risen to take Floyd from him, but he stopped as his brain once again stuttered out of control and Spencer seemed unable to move. He could feel the forest spinning around him as he watched Floyd being pulled back onto his feet, arms loose at his side, knees bent, eyes open, lips slightly parted, stomach rent open... a trail of ropey intestines flowed from the rip in Floyd's front. Spencer wanted Floyd to just stop messing around. He desperately needed Floyd to stuff that back inside him. NOW!

But that's not what happened. The creature, with his almond shaped eyes and sallow complexion, turned to look at Spencer who was by now becoming unhinged... at least that's what it would have looked like if someone had been hiding in the branches of one of the trees and looking down. That person would have seen the hesitation from Spencer, the way the pony tailed creature in the long dark blue hakama pulled back on Floyd's head. They would maybe have seen the horror on Spencer's face had that mysterious non existent tree dweller been looking at the expression on Floyd's face... the blood gushing from the neck as a demon sharp blade sliced through flesh, and bone as though it had been cutting the stem of a flower. Floyd fell back to the leaves on the floor, again with a _splat_... but the head stayed in the hands of the creature who was looking at the howling Spencer as though he was a monster himself.

'He told you to run.' That oddly clipped accented voice whispered... some how managing to cut through the noise Spencer was making. 'I'd take his advice if I was you... give me some sport. Give me something to chase.' The head was tied by the hair to his belt, the long deadly knife was flicked... sending cast off blood up the side of a small sapling. 'You don't want to stay and watch, little man. Go... run to your friends with the guns. There's nothing here for you now.'

Spencer did run.

He couldn't remember the journey. He did have some distant memory of fumbling around for the keys to the bike, but they were still with Floyd... a Floyd he'd abandoned to the devilish creature. He remembered trying his cell phone and getting no signal... no great shock there. He also had some sort of confused memory of Sam phoning that same cell phone and screaming at him... asking him what the hell was going on... demanding to speak to Floyd... and then cutting the line before Spencer had got his breath back enough to answer him. It must have been around that point that he dialled out and called for help. There was a blur of grass verges... hard black road surfaces... speeding cars, questions he couldn't answer and he could remember some flowers – but it was winter time, so he must have misremembered that some way along the line.

What he couldn't forget was the blood. The look on Floyd's face. The look of absolute defeat – and it all happened so quickly.

And of course there were questions. So many questions from Dave and Hotch. They wanted to know where Floyd was... They couldn't find the body... they could certainly find blood and bits of hair and scraps of skin and bone were even discovered, but no body. They also needed to know where Sam had gone. The lad had absconded from the special school he'd been sent to. Spencer couldn't answer. All he could do was lay there and stare at the ceiling and try to never forget Floyd's face, his voice, his hands... and his other body parts – the feel of those calloused hands holding him down, feeling him, violating him in a way that Spencer thought he might as well be dead too if that was never to be felt again.

He had no idea where Sam was. Nor did he care! He hoped that as predicted so many times by Floyd that if he, Floyd, died then Sam would too – Spencer wished it was him though, Spencer... he wanted more than anything else to be able to go to sleep and never awaken.

It was later that the doctors poured in to see him and talk to him, persuade him that he had not seen what he claimed to have seen.

'Too many head injuries.' They said.

At least they weren't trying to say that he'd gone mad for other reasons. They did say that he'd have to, without doubt, leave the FBI. They couldn't have him back again, not now. Too many excuses had been made for him. Too many mistakes. Too much. Much too much. They wanted him to retire. Maybe come in as an expert of cases. Wouldn't that be better? Take a vacation. Go away for a while. Visit a museum or some great libraries. That would be good. Relaxing... something to take his mind off everything... and – 'Oh yes, if you hear from Sam?' Well he wouldn't would he? No – Floyd was dead. He'd seen that... therefore, Sam was also gone.

He went home. An empty apartment. A dull air... nothing there felt right. It felt as though someone had been there cleaning, and removing all signs that Floyd had been there. The bedding had been changed. For a few hours, Spencer just sat on the side of the bed and ran his hand over the unfamiliar bed cover. It was brown... not the garish red Floyd had insisted was placed there. It was rough to the touch, not the smooth and almost criminally soft of the cover Floyd had given him. The pillow cases were different. He'd not see them before. Pale yellow.

_The colour of week old piss._

A voice sniggered in his head.

The batch of chilli Floyd had made the day before their trip – that had been thrown out. The pan was shiny and clean and sitting on a shelf in a cupboard. The wrong cupboard. Spencer put it in the right place – in the bin. He would never cook using that pan. He took it back out of the bin and placed it in the bottom of the wardrobe. Later that night he moved it to under the bed. In the morning he found it in the kitchen where it should be.

For a couple of weeks after he returned, the phone didn't ring. Then he plugged the land line back in and replaced the battery in his cell phone – they'd started ringing the bell to be let in. Spencer didn't want to talk to any one, even if they came armed with cookies and ice cream. Even Garcia – no, actually_ especially _Garcia who seemed to waddle more like a duck the older she got – and that though brought stinging to the back of Spencer's eyes and long hours spent staring at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror, bedroom mirror, that little mirror in the hallway he used to check he had nothing stuck between his teeth before he left for work – and no bruises showing, or blood smeared where it shouldn't be... useful mirror. He managed to avoid all contact with anyone until week six when he had a doctor's appointment and sitting on the steps outside his apartment building was Derek.

'Hey kiddo.' He said as he stood and brushed grit of his back side.

Spencer ignored him. Of all the people who could have been sent to talk to him – well apart from Emily and JJ this was likely the worst – not including Garcia and Hotch. Which really didn't leave many people. Reid didn't want to chat to Derek _The Understanding_ because Derek didn't have a clue.

'Thought I'd walk with you.' Derek said as he joined Spencer's long stride down the street.

'I am capable of walking.' Spencer snapped back at him. 'If you want to ask me something, get it over with.' This was the all new snarky Spencer. One which not many people liked or wanted to get to know better.

'You've not been answering the phone.'

'Then write me a letter. I can ignore that just as easily.' Spencer increased his stride.

'We're concerned. You might not like it, but we are your buddies.'

Spencer's stride stopped completely and he turned to look at Derek. 'No – I worked along side you. For years you laughed behind my back, took advantage of me. Told me what what I was and how I did things was wrong, because it was not how you – you Derek Morgan, would have liked it. You're not a friend.'

Derek nodded slowly and sighed. 'It's a mess, I know. I know...'

If he was going to say something else, Spencer didn't wait to hear it. 'You don't know. Why do people keep telling me that they know what it's like? You don't know what it's like, Derek so stop being so condescending and pretending that you do. You weren't there. You didn't see what I saw.' And Spencer could see by that slight twitch on Derek's face that he, Derek, didn't believe that Spencer had seen what he said he'd seen. He could tell that Derek believed it was a drug induced madness, no matter that blood tests cleared him. People like Derek believed what they wanted to believe. Damn you if you disagreed. 'Derek.' Spencer then took a deep breath. 'I don't need a baby sitter. I need to go and talk to my doctor and I need to recover. I'm not about to do anything stupid. I'll not allow this to carry on.' He took a few steps before Derek was at his side again.

'Carry on? What, exactly?'

'Exactly? You... you and _your friends_.' Spencer pulled his arm away from where Derek had taken hold of his shirt sleeve. 'Don't touch me! Never touch me.' Spencer fairly hissed at him. 'You know more than you're admitting. When you feel free to see by that shield you've put up, then come to me, or no... don't bother – send Rossi to me. Until that happens... this is where I have to leave you.' And Spencer swung into a doorway of a doctor's office, leaving a puzzled Derek standing in front of a large bush, in a pot, at the side of the road.


	3. Chapter 3

Spencer's Story

Part Two

What do doctors know?

They know that suppressing unwanted thoughts can be beneficial to the patient. Spencer though, according to notes the doctor had read, was an ex-addict and so medication was discounted. They would have to go via the route of talk, diary keeping, and more talking. There was a telephone number to call if he had a _crisis_, though Spencer thought that this dusky skinned man with a strange accent would be the last person he'd call if he couldn't decide where to put Floyd's cooking pan. He was glad to see that Derek had gone, when he peered out of the tinted glass doors of the doctor's office. He didn't think he could waste more time... drinking coffee and reading notices on the wall. He walked back to the apartment with a strange feeling of hope. Oh it had nothing to do with the talk with the doc, it was something else... could it have been seeing Derek? No he didn't think it was that either. He took the steps up to his floor two at a time... a happy tingling had wrapped itself around his brain. Maybe his coffee had been doped, but he thought it was just a feeling of...

He stopped his thoughts there. The door to his apartment was ajar – only by a couple of inches, but it was certainly open. There was also a delicious smell... Food. Someone was in his place cooking food... not just any food, but Floyd's special recipe from some European country. Spencer dared not move. He stood looking through the gap, trying to see movement. Surely Derek wouldn't have broken in, and Derek wouldn't be cooking that lovely heart stew...

Spencer's stomach betrayed him, by rumbling loudly. He slowly pushed open the door and the smell of food assailed him, making his eyes water. He was just about to call out to Floyd, when Sam stepped out of the kitchen with a worried frown on his face. He stopped as though turned to stone and looked at Spencer. He had a wooden spoon in his hand which was dripping something brown onto the floor.

'Spencer.' He did a quick flick of a smile.

'Sam. Are you – alone?' Spencer walked into his hallway, finding it very hard to take his eyes off Sam's.

'Ah – yes – alone.' Sam gave the spoon a quick lick and rubbed at the spots on the floor with the toe of a black booted foot. 'Food.' He did that nervous smile again and spun on his heels, back into the kitchen.

'But...' Spencer followed, kicking the door closed behind him. 'How did you get in?'

'Key... Sit. I've set the table.'

This was making less sense than most things had for a while. 'What are you doing here cooking stew?'

'No one else was going to do it? I bought just enough for you. I was sort of hoping to be gone by the time you got back. You didn't take long. I've just warmed it in the microwave...'

'What key? I never gave you a key.'

'Floyd, I got it from Floyd. Look... sit. No wait!... wait... lets do this properly. Let me take your clothes...' He winced at his own words. 'I meant jacket but you don't have a jacket. Shoes? Shall I take your shoes? Get you a drink? I'll do that... sit down at the table and let me wait on you.'

Spencer kicked off his shoes and took off his watch, putting it on the small hallway table. He moved slowly, like his feet were in mud, to the two person table, where he used to sit and eat meals with Floyd. Sam had laid it for one – and a glass of red wine was waiting, sitting on a slim coaster. Spencer heard the small sigh... or was it a sob, from the back of his throat as he sat down.

'Why are you doing this, Sam? And how did you get away from...'

'You ask the wrong questions at the wrong time.' Sam placed a small plate in front of Spencer. 'Pate with elderberry... and... and port and some little crackers. Eat that.' Sam smiled. 'When you've eaten everything we can talk?'

So Spencer ate the little bit of pate, which he had to admit was very good. He followed that with a small taste of sorbet, and then a dish of heart stew. Sam sat the other side of the table watching Spencer nervously, licking his lips... twitching... sniffing... scratching...

'You need something.' Spencer put his fork down.

'I'm fine.' Sam replied as he began scratching at his neck. 'I've got a headache is all. Nothing I can't cope with. Spencer, please eat that. I made it specially for you. I wanted to do something for you because I know what's happened and... and... I thought I should... for comfort reasons... but I don't want to go back to that school.' Sam watched as Spencer put the last bit of meat into his mouth. He watched Spencer swallow and then snatched up the plates and ran to the kitchen. Spencer heard the rattle of dishes as Sam loaded the dishwasher. When he returned he had two mugs of sweet coffee. 'You'll not tell them I've been here, will you? You don't work for them now do you? Spencer... I'm going to fix it all. I'm doing all I can. You'll not get in my way will you? I'm begging you.'

How could Sam fix something which couldn't be fixed? He said nothing but sipped on the drink. He should inform someone that Sam had been here, but... but maybe...

'How can you fix it?' He asked. Was it really worth risking _everything_ all hope – just to tell someone that Sam had cooked him a dinner. He didn't think so. Was there really hope though? Could there be?

Sam bit on his bottom lip for a moment and then stuffed his hands into the front pocket of his grubby dungarees. Spencer now gave Sam a closer look. He'd seen Sam scruffy before, but not like this, at least not for a long time. It looked as though he'd been sleeping rough. There was dirt ground into his knuckles and his hair was unwashed and hanging ropey around his pinched and bruised looking face. He had dark circles under his eyes and was now pulling something out from his pocket. He placed it on the arm of Spencer's chair. A bit of paper about the size of a post card. It was face up and Spencer could see a printed painting of something which looked like an angel, written on the back in Sam's handwriting was:

"_If you live in the dark a long time and the sun comes out, you do not cross into it whistling. There's an initial uprush of relief at first, then-for me, anyway- a profound dislocation. My old assumptions about how the world works are buried, yet my new ones aren't yet operational. There's been a death of sorts, but without a few days in hell, no resurrection is possible."__  
__Mary Karr: A Memoir_

Spencer read it aloud and then passed it back to Sam. He wasn't sure what to make of that.

Sam pulled out another and placed this one on Spencer's knee. Again there was a painting of an angel on one side and Sam's neat cursive writing on the back.

"_It is not more surprising to be born twice than once; everything in nature is resurrection."_

_Voltaire._

'He made a mistake.' Sam hissed at Spencer.

'Floyd?'

'No! No – not Floyd... well yes, him too, but the demon who took his head made a mistake. And because of that, I think I can fix things, look.' Sam patted his own chest. '...I shouldn't be here Spencer. I should have been reabsorbed into the pits of sludge and filth, but I wasn't! I knew Floyd had been hurt. I knew something bad had happened, but I was still standing... I was still alive, so, you might have seen what you saw, but you didn't stay to watch it all. And if you had you'd know.'

Spencer's mouth opened and then closed again. A loud buzzing started in his ears. He felt too hot, sweat popped out on his brow, he felt sticky and too hot under his arms and he itched... itched like something was crawling under his skin.

'Sam... I... I had to run. I had...'

'You.' Sam stood up and took back the bit of paper he'd allowed Spencer to read. 'You left him to rot. You left him there... when I got there he had been nibbled on! Some creatures had dragged parts of him into the bushes! His... his... his... hands! Rats or something had eaten parts of his fingers, but... but I knew! I fucking well knew! And so I did what I had to do. And Spencer, Spencer, it was foul. It was terrible... but I couldn't have the FEDs coming and taking him... not like that, so I did it. I sorted at least that part of it out... and I took his keys... and I... and I... I did what I had to do. I twisted time, but I could only do so much. We have to do the rest together. As a team. You'd not let Floyd down would you? He's depending on us.'

'He's dead.' Spencer sighed. 'I saw...'

'No! You saw one thing... you didn't see it all. I have to go. I have to go and get a fix... I'm going to twitch right off my bones if I don't sort it soon. I'll keep in contact though. I'll let you know what's going on when I can, and when it's time, you'll know.'

Spencer thought of offering Sam a shower, a change of clothes, but somehow he didn't. He stood and watched Sam leave. The boy had always been a bit strange, but now he seemed to have slipped even further away. The door closed with a thud and Spencer walked to the phone, picked it up and ran his fingers over the keys. He should contact Hotch. He should let Rossi know... so why he was putting it back down again and walking to the bathroom, he wasn't sure.

Spencer had a hot shower. He was inclined to take them very hot... too hot. He only felt clean if it felt as though he'd boiled himself alive. He scrubbed at his hair with lemon shampoo and piled on conditioner to make sure that the soft waves in his hair didn't end up a tangled mess. Floyd wouldn't have liked that. He also took his time to make sure that his hair was properly rinsed... How many times had he, in a rush, not completed this task properly and ended up with hair looking like it hadn't been washed in a month? Today he took his time... today he washed every part of his body he could reach... and for those other parts? Well he had things he could use for that too. Then for the first time since this had happened, Spencer shaved; not just his face, but all the places Floyd always insisted on him shaving. That was likely why he'd been so itchy lately. That feeling of sweaty man parts in his underwear, nestling in hair... today that revolted him. It took a while but when the job was completed, Spencer was sure that he'd stop itching... But as he dried himself and looked at his sore red skin in the mirror... that itching was back again. Crawling through him, just under the skin like it was alive. As though he'd been infested with some nasty parasite... and maybe he had? Sam looked far from clean and he'd eaten what the lad had given him... eaten it without question! He'd not even asked where he'd got it from, or what facilities he'd used to cook. Sam had said he'd just warmed it up, so where the hell had he cooked it and...what sort of meat had that been?

Spencer wanted to sleep, but the griping stomach pains didn't allow that. The feeling that the food was alive and moving around inside of him got him out of bed, in his blue pyjamas and into the kitchen where he mixed up some salt and warm water which he drank, hoping it would make him sick, but as he knelt in front of the toilet with sweat dripping off the end of his nose and chin, nothing happened. He had no gag reflex... but even stuffing most of his hand down his throat didn't bring about anything more than a sore throat. His bowels screams and bubbled, but again, no matter how long he sat there on the toilet with his pyjama bottoms puddled around his feet, nothing happened.

He woke up in the early hours of the morning, disorientated and confused. He wasn't in bed... all he could see was an expanse of whiteness. Clean and sparkly white... The bathroom floor? His back pressed against the radiator, which luckily had only just sprung back into life after going off for the night and it was probably the heat trying to weld his back to the radiator which woke him. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. There was underfloor heating in this room and that gave no cooling relief to his body. At some point he'd pulled his pyjamas back on again and the pain in his stomach and bowels had transferred to a pounding in his head.

'Oh.' He muttered. There really wasn't much else he could say. There was no one here to kick him. No one here who needed an explanation. No one who would need hot sweet coffee and toast. No one but himself and Spencer didn't think that today he'd have much to eat...

He dressed, sitting on the side of the bed... pulling clothes on and trying not to move his head too much. He had managed underwear and jeans. He'd pulled on a checked shirt in shades of reds and black. He had pulled a green cardigan on too and buttoned it – almost correctly. He'd not managed socks. He wouldn't be managing them either. His head – or rather the pain in his head was making his eyes water. What had Sam done to him? What poison had he put in that food? Did the boy want him dead? Was he blaming him for what happened? Spencer reckoned that would involve a lot of thinking on his behalf and today, thinking was not on the agenda.

He had no painkillers in the house. Though Floyd had always thought them necessary... thought it necessary for Spencer to take them, far too often... in a quantity which no person should take... Spencer had none... He never purchased them himself and today... today he was going to get fresh air and get rid of the pain that way.

Why was he so itchy!

He put on a pair of loafers which were sitting next to the hallway cupboard and after brushing his teeth, manically, till his gums bled, he put keys and wallet in his pocket and left the apartment for a walk in the fresh, early winter air. He walked slowly, he took the elevator... stairs would have jangled his brain too much. He checked his post – junk mail and one letter from the phone company thanking him for paying his bill – though he'd not – bills got paid automatically from some weird account Floyd had set up years ago. He stuffed the things back in the mail slot and walked outside into the noise of the street.

There was someone sitting on the steps of his apartment. Not Derek; thank the gods for that small mercy, no this was a blond haired man with small plaits in the side of his hair which were clipped back. Very odd. The clothing was strange too. Very bright and long fitted coat, covered in embroidery... birds... The man, who was not as tall as Spencer but taller than Floyd or Sam, jumped to his feet. Skinny, bluish-green eyes and a nervous smile.

'Spencer? Are you Spencer?' He questioned with voice and eyebrows.

Spencer looked at this odd young man standing there and gave him a questioning look in return. 'Who are you?'

'Ah – Sam asked... Sam asked me to give you this.' He pulled something out of his pocket, causing Spencer to yelp and jump back, catching the back of his leg on a step and forcing him down with a jarring bang, sending a wave of shock up his back and right there... stabbing into his head.

'It's just a bit of paper.' The young man held it out. 'And a package.' The other hand had a small paper bag in it. 'He said to make sure I gave it directly to you, not to post it... but to make sure you got it.'

Spencer didn't move. He sat there looking at this strange green and yellow clad man... skinny, cute... unusual eyes. Spencer thought maybe he had contacts in. 'What is it? Who are you? How do you know Sam?'

'Levin, my name is Levin. I'm just – er – I know... it's not important how I know him.' He was still holding out the bit of paper and the bag. 'Please. I er... I owe him a favour, you see?'

'A favour?' Spencer stood slowly, rubbing at a place on his back where it felt as though he'd skinned himself. 'For what?'

A nervous twitch of the face. 'You know Sam. Guess.'

Spencer glared at Levin with as much annoyance as he could muster. Sam had sent a whore to deliver a message for him? He took the bit of paper and looked carefully at it. It had been cut out of a book... Something which alone angered Spencer. It was about how to control a headache without the use of drugs. Spencer allowed a frown and then took the paper bag.

'He said in case the first option didn't work.' And then stood back away from Spencer, like a deer about to run from a hunter. 'I have to go.'

'Morphine?' Spencer hissed. 'Where did you get this?'

'As I said... you know Sam... Guess?'

So he was a drug runner or dealer or something, not a whore? 'Are you... do you? And Sam?'

He shook his head quickly. 'I'm not here to talk about that. Thank you.' He turned and walked quickly away.

A week later as Spencer sat down in a small coffee shop, Levin was suddenly there again, sitting the other side of the table with his own mug of milky coffee and wearing a long leather green coat and a big bruise under his right eye. Spencer didn't say anything to him. He wasn't really all that surprised that this odd person with the slightly swollen bottom lip was there, sliding another bag across the table towards Spencer.

'He said you'd need more.' Levin muttered.

'Sam hit you.' Was Spencer's reply.

'I didn't want to do this. If I'm caught... I'm sure I'm being watched.' There was a sob of panic in his voice. 'Please just take it.'

'I've not taken the last lot yet.' Oh Spencer that was a lie! It was such a filthy lie! Of course he'd taken them! The trick of laying in the dark massaging his head with his fingers did nothing but make his hands ache. The headache had still been firmly in place.

He'd started with just one... and the pills were _tiny _and white, with a small '10' embossed on it. They'd been in a blister pack, so it was very easy to control how many he'd taken. Easy to see if he'd been stupid and taken too many... but they worked. The pain was still there in his head, but he was able to eat now and drink... and not feel that he had to take an ice pick to his ear to relieve the agony. And so he took the bag and slipped it into the messenger bag he had hooked over the side of his chair. 'Why did he hit you?'

'You know Sam...'

'Ah...' So he _was_ a whore... a little dirty street slut. Some back street slut. It made Spencer both angry and oddly uncomfortable. 'Did you know Floyd?'

Levin blinked and sucked on his sore lip. 'No.' But that was as much a lie as Spencer had told. 'I have to go.' He drank up his coffee and stood.

'You could come back to my place and we could talk?' Spencer tried.

Levin sat back down again, leaning his elbows on the wooden table and staring Spencer hard in the face. 'I'm not free.' He sighed. 'In as much... what I mean is... that I have things to do. I have to go back and... I need to.' He let out a gush of irritation. 'I'll let Sam know that you're OK. He said... he said that I... he told me I wasn't to go back to your place.' Fiddling now with a pack of sugar. 'If he found out.' A hand drifted to the side of his face. 'He's possessive and probably watching. So yes, I need to go.' Again Levin stood. 'Another time maybe? Juniper Lane. Midnight.' Then he was gone. Was that a proposition or was he telling Spencer that he'd divulge more information then...? and there, but Spencer knew Juniper Lane. It backed onto the park... Not a place you'd wander down in the middle of the night.

A couple of months went by in a drugged fug. Spencer managed to avoid seeing Derek again, he avoided seeing Hotch, who he really desperately wanted to avoid. He saw Garcia once, but pretended he'd not and walked off in a different direction... Rossi, though... Rossi was insistent and in the end Spencer agreed to meet him, at Rossi's house, just for a talk. It seemed to be the best way to get the man out of his hair – and Spencer's hair was looked rather good lately. Spencer attempted not to arrive as though he was floating. He also didn't want to be a twitching mess, but at a point somewhere in between. He took a cab... he took a cab on the pretext that he might have a drink and didn't want to be trapped with no way to get home – but that wasn't the reason. Spencer thought, rightly, that if he was stopped for erratic driving they'd do a blood test and wonder how this man was managing to stand up, let alone drive. So a cab it was.

Dave opened the front door of his nice, smart home before Spencer had even knocked... or had be knocked and forgotten as soon as he'd done it. This was the reason Spencer was staring at his first when the door chain slipped off and the sturdy reinforced wooden door swung open.

'Reid!' As though he'd not expected him and for a moment Spencer wondered if he'd dreamt the invite and Rossi really hadn't been expecting him. 'Come in. I've made pasta.' Well the smells were wondrous, as would be expected with Dave, but Spencer wondered if he was going to be able to eat and not throw up in his pasta bowl. A glass of wine was thrust into his hand and with a nod and some hand gestures, Spencer was escorted to the lounge and was soon ensconced in a squashy leather couch. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all?

Except his head was pounding with each beat of his heart. He managed to mutter a 'hello' and a 'Thank you' but apart from that Spencer wondered now if he had anything to say to Rossi about anything. He need not have worried though. Dave had everything under control.

'I've something I would like to talk to you about.'

And right off Spencer felt the trap closing in.

'I didn't... I... It's not...' Spencer swilled the wine around and sniffed at it, trying to make his addled mind let his mouth speak.

'You're not in trouble.' Dave smiled and sat down on a brown leather chair. The house was what Spencer would describe as flashy and yet still very boring, but he looked around for something, anything to take his mind off everything... and let him relax. If he stayed wound up like this he'd never be able to get a full sentence out and Dave was looking at him, giving him that _knowing_ look... he knew... Dave knew.

Spencer just wasn't sure _what_ part of this mess Dave knew.

A folder was placed on the table. It made Spencer twitch alarmingly. It made his skin itch... it made him need to blow his nose and use the bathroom... preferably for an actual bath!

'Dave...' He started... said a whole word which made sense. It was a good start.

'Reid, just relax. I wanted to show you something and see what you think.'

An image of Dave releasing his penis from his jeans rushed over Spencer's mind.

Throbbing head... the bile rising...

'Dave...' Again! Another word, unfortunately it was the same as before. He could see the liquid in the wine glass shuddering as his hands began to shake. 'What... what... wha... wh...' He then gave up and put the glass down. This was hopeless and Dave must know it was. Spencer cracked his knuckles and forced himself to look at the manilla folder sitting there doing nothing. Had they been following him? Did they know about Levin? Did they know he'd had contact with Sam?

Dave opened the folder. Inside was a photograph of what appeared to be a human skull – surely not. It must the the drugs distorting his vision. Rossi pushed it towards Spencer.

'What it comes down to – after everything else – maybe you are the one who can explain.' Dave said.

'It's...' Spencer picked it up... it was not what he thought it was going to be. Not a picture of him talking to Levin. Not a photo of him walking down Juniper Lane – yes, he'd gone, but during the day, just to ensure that it was what he thought... and yes it was, a dirty lane, one side with railings next to the park, the other side a warehouse wall covered in obscene graffiti. Condoms laying around, dirty underwear... phone numbers scratched into the brick... filth... the real gutter... did that pretty young man, Levin work here? It didn't matter now, it was a photo of a skull and Spencer seemed to have picked it up and was looking at it... the paper shaking in his hands... his eyes needing to water. He blinked, blinked again and thought if he didn't stop now he'd slide into a full on twitch-fest.

'I need the bathroom.' Spencer slapped the picture down as he stood up, swaying slightly... and he left the room for the small downstairs cloakroom Dave had... thank the gods for that. Spencer didn't think he'd be able to manage stairs. He slammed the toilet lid down and sat, head in hands... with the water running into the basin, steaming up the small mirror above it. He let the tears fall. He let the sobbing release; perhaps after that he'd be able to talk better... be able to look at that photo again. He gave himself ten minutes, then washed his face, used the toilet, washed his hands and inspected his teeth... then walked with a bit more stability back to the lounge.

The photo was still sitting there where he had left it. It seemed to be leering, or maybe pleading... or perhaps it was shouting at him...

'Why are you showing me this?' Spencer eventually said when Rossi had decided to say nothing.

'Because you know what it is... whose it is.'

Spencer blinked. 'Where did it come from?'

'You don't need to know where it came from. What I need you to tell me, is if what I think, is what you know.' Dave sipped on wine, but looked serious... this wasn't a joke. 'Look carefully. There's different shots, different angles.'

'Super.' Spencer moaned as he picked up the pile of photos and started to look through them.

'Remarkable. They attempted to do some tests on the bone. There was discussion about the age.'

'The age?' Spencer put them down again.

'Not that it matters. We both know whose that is?'

'We do?' Spencer needed something to calm his nerves but he'd left his pills at home. He rubbed at his temples with his finger tips. 'What did the tests come back with?'

'Nothing.' Rossi sounded oddly smug. 'Nothing that made sense... It's not a human skull.'

'Oh.' Spencer stared down at the photos. 'Then what?'

'I was hoping you'd tell me. You have been saying all along that you saw something decapitate Floyd... now this turns up...' Dave prodded one of the pictures of the front of the skull. 'There has been damage done here, you can see it... yet it's also mostly healed over. Remarkable. Then this...' Now Rossi swiped his hand over the forehead area... 'Huge damage done there at some point. Most of the bone must have been shattered, yet again it's healed over. Impossible.' He pulled out a photo of the back of the skull. 'Bullet entry...' He patted the front view. 'And exit. I only know one person who can take damage like that to his head and live. And he must have lived or there would have been no healing. A mystery... don't you think?'

Spencer nodded slowly. Sam had said he had things under control... did he know of this? 'Where is it?' A sharp demand.

'I'm not going to tell you that... I just wanted your opinion. Is this Floyd's skull?'

'No... how can it be? His head was taken. I saw... I saw that thing tie his hair to his belt... I saw...'

Dave quickly closed the folder. 'Spencer, this is the first evidence I've seen which even comes close to the story you told us, but what remains... this isn't a human skull... And before you ask, we... or rather the scientific world, have no idea... the machinery throws out random messes each time... or the power goes down, or the machine simply refuses to recognise the sample... what has been returned though, the DNA... is not human... so...'

Spencer got to his feet. 'Is dinner ready?'

More months went by and though Levin was supplying Spencer with what he needed to get rid of the horrific pain in his head, it wasn't Levin he wanted to talk to. This oddly vacant looking person who never wanted to discuss who or what he was. Spencer took the pack of pills and told Levin that he had no further use for him. They were standing down a side alleyway... litter strewn, dumpsters sweating out their months of rot, but Levin still seemed to shine... spotlessly clean and almost angelic looking, apart from the bruise on his cheek. His fingers constantly fluttering over it as though that would distract Spencer from the fact that it was there.

'Tell Sam I need to talk to him.' Spencer told Levin whose eyes went huge and his head twitched side to side.

'To what point?' Again the fluttering of fingers. 'He doesn't listen to me.' A deep breath. 'I think he's mad. I think he should be locked away.' And Levin's fingers were on Spencer's arms, gripping them tightly. 'He will beat me if I don't tell him what he wants to hear. I've not even seen him in a while. I just do what he's asked of me.'

Spencer looked at Levin's hands clutching hold of him and then at the bruise on his face... and now it was Spencer's fingers brushing over the mark. 'Then who did this? This is a fresh bruise.'

'Not Sam... Sometimes, you know, people... they get rough. Spencer, I will deliver the message, but he will come and he will find me... and he'll do a lot worse than you can see now.' The fingers pressed harder and deeper into Spencer's arms. 'Please... just tell me if you've found out anything. I'll relay the message.'

'Tell Sam to go to hell and you don't have to put up with this.' Again a brush of the fingers over Levin's face. A thumb brushing against his bottom lip... a finger pushing back Levin's hair and brushing across his ear. 'You shouldn't let him do this to you.'

The young blond man jumped back, eyes wide... maybe understanding what was going on more than Spencer did! 'You... you shouldn't touch me like that.' Levin announced. 'Sam... I'm...'

Oh it was all too familiar to Spencer. He understood exactly what was going on here. And he could say that Levin didn't have to put up with it until the cows came home, but if that's what Levin wanted, that's what Sam would provide. 'Then be careful.' Spencer dared a kiss on the bruised cheek. 'And if Sam insists... Tell him that I know nothing. I've not heard a thing since the business with Rossi.' Which was truth. 'And if you need to talk to me again, come to the apartment. Sam has access, request it from him.'

'No.' Levin moved back, bumping into a pile of bin bags spilling out rotting vegetation into the alleyway. 'You don't understand.'

'I do. I do understand.' Spencer didn't wait for more. He left the man standing there amongst the trash. He'd hear from Sam now. He was sure of it. Sam wouldn't like that Spencer had had his hands on Levin... not if Sam's greed was anything like Floyd's and he had a good idea that it was.

So for another week Spencer waited. He left the apartment every day at three in the afternoon to get a coffee from the corner shop. He maintained the routine so that Sam could find him. Or maybe so that Levin could find him. It was the middle of the following week that Spencer had someone meet him in that little shop. Not Levin... it was Sam. And Sam didn't look very happy.

'I'm doing everything and all you can do is fuck my boyfriend.' Sam snapped as he sat down slopping his black coffee over the table.

Spencer's eyes snapped up to him, raising an eyebrow. 'I what now?'

'You fucked Lev... Why did you do that? He was all I had and now I have nothing. You bastard. Here I am running myself ragged, making sure that your headaches are controlled... trying to find where that fucking skull is... twisting the clocks and messing with the times and it's all turning to shit... and when I have my back turned you fuck my boyfriend. Why?'

'I didn't!' Spencer hissed back. 'What are you on about? Levin came and made a delivery...'

'And you made a delivery of your own! You cunt!' Sam hammered his fists on the table, splashing his face with sticky sweet coffee. 'Now I have nothing. You shit. If you want to get Floyd back you're going to have to do it yourself. No more drugs, no more help... nothing, you understand and Floyd will know who helped and who was fucking pretty boys as he lay rotting. You motherfucker!'

'You've misunderstood.' Spencer went to grab Sam and hiss at him from a lesser distance, but Sam was dodging out of the way. 'What have you done to Levin?'

'He's none of your fucking business. You think you know everything don't you, but you don't. You don't know everything, Spencer. I am going to rescue Floyd and you are going to cry because you will see and he will see who loves him more. You won't be seeing Lev again. I'm not getting you any more shit for your head... put up with it... Floyd knows everything... you ate part of him... Something _else_ I had to sort because you didn't bother. He lives in us now... and we'll carry him until it's time... and then... and then he'll chose which of us he will use and it will be you. Because he will see that I'm loyal beyond anything possible and that you raped Lev in some dirty backstreet and he'd never done anything to hurt you... not damned ever had he... and you've messed it all up.'

Sam sat down with a heaving sob.

'I didn't rape Levin! I hardly touched him, Sam. You got it wrong. I told him that I didn't want to see him again. I wanted you – to talk to you.'

'Too late. It's all too late. Lev is dead to me.' Sam then picked up the remains of his drink and tossed the lot in Spencer's shocked face.

It should have been a relief. It should have been what he'd wanted all along, but no... once the pain hit in the early hours of the morning and he realised that the had no little white pills left, then the panic set in. What exactly had Sam said?

Pacing around the lounge... around the coffee table, smacking his shins as he sped up and misjudged the distance... How many damned corners did this four cornered table have! More than four if you counted, smack... again on the shin. He'd not changed his clothes since that day in the coffee shop... only a few days now, but days add up too quickly; much too quickly... and the pain!

Spencer pulled on a jacket, stuffed his feet into the old loafers and left the apartment, banging the door behind him. It was half eleven in the evening, he'd checked that on his watch and the small wall clock Sam had bought Floyd once. He had half an hour to get to Juniper Lane and try to find Levin – or Sam. It seemed like the sort of place Sam would hang out in, and it had been where Levin had said to meet him. It was his only hope. At the very least he could make sure that neither of them were there. Cross that off the list. A fifteen minute cab ride got him to the entrance of the park.

'It's closed this time of night.' The cabby helpfully informed him. Spencer didn't need to give reasons or explanations. He paid and slipped a tip and left the man to go pick up someone else. The gates indeed were locked, but it wasn't in the park he wanted to be. He kept to the shadows and moved quickly... his brain grinding against his skull as though it was trying to drill holes in the bone and escape...

Once more he tried to think what Sam had told him. He'd eaten part of Floyd? The food Sam had so kindly provided, liver and heart... but that was something which Spencer wasn't going to allow his brain to think about further. The horror of that was just too much. Sam wouldn't have done that. Floyd would have! But he didn't think Sam would have. To his right now, a distraction from the bile rising in his throat; the opening to Juniper Lane. It was heavy in the shadows but darkness is never complete when you live in a city like this. There is always a light somewhere and there is always noise and there were definitely people here, chatting... whispering... and all the other things people do in places like this. Spencer licked his lips. It was one thing walking down there alone during the day, it was another to come here alone at night. But Spencer wasn't a coward. When it came to it, Spencer was a brave and stupid fool. He fisted his hands and made his way off the pathway and down Juniper Lane. He was still deciding how he was going to go about this when someone called out.

'Over here, princess.' A rough voice... a male voice.

Spencer turned to look, a tall dark man... his skin shining in the strange half light down here. It was a good a place as any to start. He walked over and trying to avoid looking at the man in the eyes asked what he had to ask.

'I'm looking for Levin – or Sam... either of them.'

The man's face seemed to split in two... golden teeth, white teeth... missing teeth, all on display. 'Levin? Never heard of him... Sam? That little creep?' He gestured at about Sam's head height. 'Dark hair... little thieving shit? If he comes back here, he'll not be leaving again. Don't know of a Levin though.' So Spencer quickly described him to this man... so tall... this and that... blue eyes... strange clothes... 'Oh! The Seraphim? At least that's what that gobbler Sam called him. He's gone, buddy. Everyone wanted a bit of that sweet ass. He probably bled out.' And the large dark man snorted a laugh... 'Now... now that we've got those two cunts out of the way... what do you want?'

Spencer backed off. 'I was just looking for them... for... them in particular, for reasons...'

'Ah... you're not after a bit of this?' The man grabbed at his own balls and squeezed. 'Or a bit of this?' He held up a hand and extended a few fingers.

'Not tonight. I needed to see Sam.'

'Well if he shows his disgusting little face I promise to stick one of those spikes up his ass and leave him on the fence for you. You'll not miss him... he'll probably be enjoying it.'

Spencer didn't bother talking to anyone else. Not only were the noises coming from further down the lane a bit... well... like the people would want privacy, but this man had told him all he needed to know. Sam wasn't liked... and Levin the Seraphim wasn't likely to come back either. Spencer decided that he needed to find out more about the skull Rossi had shown him. A trip the library and trudging through newspaper reports would have to wait until the morning. For now Spencer thought he deserved a good soak in the tub... a lovely long soak with some of that lavender bubbles he'd bought himself.

It was late. Spencer was tired. His head was agony, and that was his excuse for what happened. He bowled in the apartment, locking the door carefully, resting his aching forehead on the door as he slipped bolts across and the chain in place. He rested his head on the wall as he set the alarm... and walked with his eyes closed to keep out the glare of the light as he went straight to the bathroom. He closed the door, but couldn't lock it. There was no lock – or there had been at some point in the past before Floyd had ripped it out and it had never been replaced. He stripped off, used the toilet... started running the bath... fancy tub – another thing Floyd had insisted upon... taps at the side and not either end... easier... more comfortable and right now Spencer had to agree. He pulled open the cabinet and grabbed his tooth brush then glanced into the basin... sitting there was a strip of pills. He put the brush back down again and picked up the little strip. Twenty pills... small, white... each enclosed in its own bubble... Morphine... it must have fallen out of the cabinet. They must have been caught up and been hidden. He opened the cabinet to replace them. Save them for later... Have just one now... just one... maybe two? One... 'One.' He said it aloud to confirm the decision, but then found he was crunching it between his teeth. 'Shouldn't do that.' He told himself and cupped cold water in his hands to rinse it all down. He poured lilac coloured liquid into the hot tub water... and knowing full well... knowing with every fibre of his tired and aching body that he shouldn't get into the water, not when he'd just taken a pill... or two? Had he taken more than one? Spencer thought about checking. He thought about going to lay down on the couch, but seemed to be sliding into the hot bubbly water anyway. He could stay awake... he knew he could... So he turned off the water and rested his head on the end of the tub and closed his eyes. Bliss... complete luxury.

The dream which accompanied his sleep was as warm and comforting as the water he lay in. It was a scattered dream of touching and pleasure, rather than anything visual... somewhere in the back of Spencer's mind, beyond the dream of loving caresses was a warning; something telling him to wake up, that he was in danger, but this was too good. He'd not felt this happy and contented since that last bike ride he took with Floyd; the wind battering his face which he'd pressed into Floyd's back, his arms tightly around him, feeling the thumping of Floyd's heart under his hands... no... not since then had Spencer felt this content.

It didn't last though. Nothing ever lasts. Like that bike ride ended in a slapping and then death. This dream ended too, with pressure not in his head, but pressing against his groin. With a groan Spencer opened his eyes. The bath water was hot... the bubbles dying... and the groan turned into a shout of surprise when he realised that he was no longer in the tub alone. Sam's wicked and spite filled face was grinning back at him... and it seemed it was Sam's foot pressing against a place Sam shouldn't have his foot!

'What the hell?' Spencer made to leap out of the bath, but and small hand on his ankle stopped him.

'Calm down.' Sam splashed water playfully in Spencer's face. 'You've been sleeping for hours, don't pretend you didn't like it. I've refilled the tub about twenty times to make sure you didn't get cold. You know you're an idiot, don't you?'

Spencer tried to kick out with his free foot, but Sam grabbed that too and somehow managed to slide around until he was kneeling. 'I was worried.'

'Worried? So you got in the tub with me? Get out and let go of me!'

'You were sinking under the water when I came in. You'd be dead if I'd not pulled you back out again. You should be thanking me. I could have sat on the floor all fucking night, but I needed a bath too, so took one. You should never drug yourself up then take a bath! How idiotic is that? What if I'd not been here? They would have found you bloated and rotting in the cold water a few months from now. No one would have missed you until the smell drifted through the gap under the doors. I thought you were meant to be a genius.'

Again Spencer tried to pull his feet away, to kick... to kick hard! 'How did you get in? I bolted the door.'

Sam looked puzzled for a moment and then shook his wet hair... AH! He'd used Spencer's shampoo... damn him! 'I was here before you got back. The place was empty and I fell asleep on the couch. I woke up and heard weird noises coming from the bathroom and I assumed that you were having a wank, but then when I looked, nope... you were drowning... because you're a moron. But that said, we do need to talk.' Sam then released his hold on Spencer and bounced up and out of the tub, dripping water over a body Spencer would sooner not have to look at. 'Get out and dry.'

'When I get out of here, when I'm dry and dressed, you'd better have left.'

'But if I've left I can't talk to you about that skull, now can I? I thought we were a team.' Sam wrapped a towel around his middle and held one up for Spencer. 'Don't be shy. Not after what I just did to you when you were sleeping. You seemed very happy to have my hands all over you then.'

It was the end of it for Spencer. 'Get out! Get the hell out!'

Sam left the bathroom, but Spencer noted that his dirty clothes were laying in a puddle of water on the floor. He'd have to send Sam home – wherever his home was, in wet clothes. He was not going to entertain him. It might be a game to Sam but for Spencer it was all too painful! He was grieving! Couldn't Sam see that? Couldn't anyone see or understand what it is like to have the one person you rely upon to keep you alive... mentally and physically – taken from you... ripped away and no one believe you except for Sam, who seemed to have dropped down to a whole new level of insanity. Spencer quickly dried himself, noting how wrinkled the tips of his fingers were... he'd been in the water a very long time, that much at least was true. He was hoping that Sam had left wearing just a towel, but when Spencer walked into the lounge in his bathrobe and slippers, Sam was sitting on the couch drinking whiskey... Floyd's whiskey. The blood began to boil in Spencer's veins.

'I t-t-t-told you to leave. And th-th-that is Floyd's.' He snatched it from Sam and put the tumbler on the edge of the bookshelf. 'Drink w-w-wine if you have to have something, but do not touch Floyd's things.' Damn the stutter seemed to be coming back. He could feel that strange blockage in his brain again.

Sam rubbed the towel between his legs and curled his lip at Spencer. Both of them angry. Maybe both of them mourning, grieving for something they'd lost.

'There's a skull and I need it.' Sam told Spencer as he put his feet up onto the coffee table. Another thing Floyd would have beaten him bloody for doing. 'You seem to have accepted that Floyd is dead. I've not. If we can get all the bits back together then he can leave us and...'

'G-g-get your clothes and g-g-g-get out.' Spencer snapped as well as his brain would allow him to snap as he sat in his arm chair, careful to keep his bathrobe closed at the front. 'He's d-d-dead, Sam. He died.'

'And we can get him back again. The demon didn't do it right. He made a mistake and we can use that to get him back. And what's wrong with you? Forgotten how to speak?'

Spencer picked at the button on the robe and shook his head. 'Sam, you've not taken into con-con-consideration that I might not _want_ him b-b-b-back?'

Sam stood up, letting the towel drop to the floor. Spencer kept his eyes locked on Sam's. 'Sure, yes I have and decided that you'd die if you didn't have that bit of hope that you'd see him again. I've thought that maybe there are other people out there who are loving and kind and who will accept me – and you – for what we are, but that's bullshit, Spencer and you know it as well as I do. I don't want Levin, I don't really... actually very much so, don't want you either. I want Floyd, and the fact that I'm still alive and still breathing gives me hope that we can recover him. So quit acting like you don't care and don't have hope that we can do it. Find out where the fucking skull is... I know you've seen it. I know!'

'I've not.' Spencer spat out. 'I-I saw... I saw... ph-photographs.'

'And it was Floyd's? Was it? Can you be sure?' Sam sat back down again, pulling the towel onto his lap. 'Spencer for the love of fuck! Stop behaving like a cunt and tell me! Is there hope? Was that his skull? And where is it?'

'I don't know where it is.' Spencer muttered as he closed his eyes. He didn't want to think of that day at Dave's house. He didn't want to go through all of that with Sam. And if it was Floyd's skull, how could that possibly give hope? 'If it was – if it... if that was...' He took a deep breath. 'Floyd... how can that help?'

'Heart, liver and head.' Sam spoke quietly as though reciting a prayer. 'All three things have to be taken. The demon took the head, which put Floyd out of action... maybe for a very, very long time, but the fool didn't take the heart and liver. I did. I went there, found him rotting in the undergrowth and I ripped him open with my hands, not that I needed to do much ripping, his insides were mostly on the outside by then, but I got what I needed and did what I had to do... and that's a fucking whole bag load more than you fucking did! What did you do? Deny to Rossi that it was Floyd's skull? Act like a freak and get drunk? Or did you manage to get useful information out of him so that we can resurrect the man we both need more than the fucking air we breath? What? Nothing to say? I'm right, you're wrong... end of fucking story... Your turn.'

Spencer sighed and nodded. 'I will never forget him. I'll never do that. I'd do anything to help him, but he's dead! I saw it.'

'Fucking didn't. Fine... I'll do it alone. Forget I begged. Forget that I saved your damned pathetic life over and fucking over again... with pills and pulling you out of the water. Forget that I gave up something I loved because you'd had your hands over him... Forget it all. Tell Dave you've seen me... see if I fucking care! It'll be me who Floyd thanks. ME! Not you... understand? You have no fucking idea what I've already given up.' Were those tears Sam had forced out of his lying eyes. Spencer thought so, but it meant nothing. Nothing at all.

'You should... you... should...'

'Don't bother trying to spit words at me, Spence... I'm going.' He threw the towel at Spencer and squished to the bathroom. Spencer heard the wet sounds of someone pulling on clothes, maybe the wet sounds of someone crying – which he ignored... ignore it and it'll go away. Pain, anger, lust... this situation... it will all go away if you just close your eyes and mind and pretend it never happened.'

_Nicely done Spence_.

The voice howled in Spencer's head. Screaming around inside of his skull... he rubbed at his temples with his finger tips and waited for the sound of the door to close. Before that happened Sam was standing in front of his chair wearing stinking wet dungarees. 'Next time you have a stiffy, you're going to have to imagine it's in my mouth, because I'm never going to blow you again... you miserable shit for brains.' And Sam was gone. The door slamming... the pain hammering in his head... the memory of being touched and comforted in his dream – hadn't been a dream at all. It had been Sam.

Spencer spent the following week telling the nagging voice in his head to shut up and let him think. It was not being at all useful... just barking at him... _Get it done. Sort it. Stop taking so many pills. Speak properly. _And for a week again he paced, this time avoiding the table edges, trying not to take the pills, but deadening the pain with the whiskey which there seemed to be plenty of... He also went out and bought cigarettes and was, by the end of the week, a chain smoking drunk. It's all he deserved. Yet it had quietened down the voices... no... voice, singular... just that one voice. He managed to eat toast, drink coffee, wash and clean his teeth. That's all he needed to do. He didn't have to be perfectly normal, he just had to pretend he was... It wasn't until he felt he had perfect control of his voice and mind that he made a call to Rossi and asked to see him again. Surprisingly it was an instant 'yes' and then Spencer had to find something to wear other than his pyjamas before getting – once again – a cab to Dave's house.

He paced... he paced outside on Dave's drive for nearly an hour, muttering in his head... smoking, wishing he had a hip flask with him, but he wouldn't know if he could say what he needed to, or much of anything else, until he knocked on the door and went inside. Again the door seemed to open almost before his knuckles came away from the door. Dave had probably been watching the pacing fool on his driveway. Not that it mattered now.

'I need to talk.' Spencer told him as he was led through again to the lounge. He half expected other people to be there, men in white coats and long needles, but the room was empty. 'I need to smoke.' Spencer also said. Not asking permission, but telling him. 'Can I have a drink?' Making himself at home. Dave looked puzzled at this Spencer sitting in his lounge. A crumpled Spencer. A Spencer who was inhaling on that cigarette as though it was supplying him with air not poison. He filled a glass with a sweet white wine and placed it on a mat on the side table.

'What's going on?' Rossi sat down with his own glass of drink and a cigar in his hand. As yet unlit.

'Do you know where that skull is?' Straight to the point.

Rossi was shaking his head though. 'I'm sorry. I don't.'

'Locked away somewhere? Somewhere secret... some government lock up?'

'Reid, I said, I don't know, but I doubt that the government has it. I know that a professor Andrews had it. But whether he still does or not...'

_He's lying Spence. He knows._

Spencer made a small groan and took a swig of the wine. 'Rossi... have you still got the photos? Can I see them again?'

Dave nodded. 'I have them. I'll go get them for you. Is there something you might want to add to what you said last time?'

'Maybe.' Spencer sighed. 'I spoke to Sam.' There, said it now. Cant retract it. 'Nothing is right any more, Dave. My life is in tatters. My head is pounding... I'm smoking and drinking... and Sam... Sam is on the streets somewhere convinced that he can resurrect Floyd. I shouldn't be telling you this, but I cant tell the psychiatrist and who else is there to listen?'

'Relax.' Dave told him. 'The photos are in my office. I'll get them, and then we'll talk about exactly what you think is going on. I should tell you also, in case you were unaware, Prentiss... she had an episode... a breakdown... she also seems to not be coping very well with whatever it is has happened.'

'Well, Emily is nothing to do with this, or Floyd, never will be... she should keep to her own business. You may tell her that.' A sharp reply from Spencer who had a deep seated loathing for the only woman Floyd had ever shown even the slightest bit of interest in... and that probably because she looked more like a man than Sam did... or himself even...

_Calm down... don't let one cunny mess it up. You're doing well._

'And you can shut up too.' Spencer snapped at the voice.

Again he sat with shaking hands, staring at the photo. This time he took more time, and more care. This time he had to cuff away dampness threatening to come out of his eyes. He ran his fingers over each picture, touching where he could see discolouration and dents...

'There was a time,' Spencer began, '… when his nose was bleeding so much that I was sure he was dying... not just drips of blood, you see, but huge lumps. He took a small electric drill to his head.' Spencer let out a snort of a laugh. 'Can you believe that? Could you do that Dave? Can you imagine the pain? He drilled a hole into his skull and drained his head!' A proper laugh, but maybe bordering onto mania. Spencer passed the photo to Dave. 'That mark just above the right eye... he had a scar there... from that time. I doubt you ever noticed it though... and a mole... just below his ear lobe. A tiny dark dot... But you can't see that on bone.' Spencer picked up another photo... the back of the head. 'This mark here. He was shot in the back of the head in a dirty unused public toilet, and then strapped to the bowl and left to rot... his brains splattered over the floor... it took the front of his skull off.' He passed that to Rossi. 'This one... just above his ear... another time he drilled into his head... this one... Sam did that... this one someone else... he heals well, Dave. This is Floyd's skull and I need it. I need to hold it and I need to return it to where it belongs.'

Dave sighed and collected up the photos again. 'It's not mine. As I said, I know who had it, but if he still does, I don't know. That aside though, Spencer, I said last time we spoke about this that the DNA came back...'

'...confused.'

'Very confused... it denied that the samples are human.'

Spencer gave Dave a sideways glance. 'You've met him. You've spoken to him. You've touched him... is he man? If not I cannot explain it.'

Now Rossi stood and began pacing. He was in baggy jeans and a grey shirt unbuttoned at the neck... Spencer watched his corduroy slippered feet slap over the beige carpet... he slid an ash tray towards Spencer who had nearly two inches of ash just about to drop from the end of his cigarette. 'Spencer, I know the answer to the skull mystery, at least as far as I've been told, but I'm afraid that it's not going to help you.'

'Oh?' Flick... a bit too late... Spencer now had a lump of ash just above his knee. For now he ignored it.

'A composite. A fake. A forgery of some kind, though why someone would go to all that trouble, I'm not sure, but it happens. There's been such before.'

'A forgery? Floyd?' Spencer now wiped the ash off his knee onto Dave's carpet. This wasn't making any sense at all.

'No... not Floyd. We all know he was real. The skull... a coincidence.'

Spencer stood up. 'You know... you know that's not true. You know! I've pointed out the places... I've shown you! I know those teeth! I've been bitten by them enough times! That is Floyd's skull. Rossi, you've got to let me see it.'

Again Rossi denied. 'It can't be. Spencer, it was found before Floyd apparently died.'

Apparently? Apparently! Spencer had no more to say to Dave. Nothing. He just shook his head at him. He'd find out where this thing was... if he could... he would find out. And he'd show Floyd, prove to Floyd that he'd never give up on him. Granted he'd left it a year! A year! A whole year and only now was the reality of it really sinking in... the horror of having to be without him forever. He'd sooner die than have that. 'If you hear anything... anything... then please... Sam... Sam is looking for it. He's not well.'

'Sam is not your problem, Spencer. I advise that you keep away from him. And yes, if I hear anything about Floyd or more news on the artefact then I'll let you know.'

At the door Spencer paused and turned to look at Dave's ugly and pigheaded face again. 'If that had been the woman you loved... if someone had presented you with her head and then snatched it away and said it was a trick... a fake... something to rile you – I ask you Dave, if you'd let that go so easily as you expect me to.' Then he was through the door and out into the fresh air of mid afternoon. He stood on Dave's drive and lit up... he drew in the smoke...

'I tried.' He muttered to whatever3 voices felt like listening.

_For sure Babes... Don't give up._

But that wasn't Floyd in his head. It was a random message just to make him feel better. Had it been Floyd then surely he'd know where his own head was!

Four weeks later, Rossi contacted Spencer. 'We need to go to London.'


	4. Chapter 4

London

If Spencer had been wrong, then why had Rossi brought him to London?

If he'd not been telling the truth as he knew it, why had Sam done a smash and grab at a museum?

Spencer was also very sure now that whatever was causing this blinding pain in his head was very much to do with Floyd. He'd never been afraid of flying before. It just had never bothered him. The chances of dying whilst travelling by air were so slim, as to be discounted. He personally discounted it. Whatever it was in his head went into a blind panic... which travelled through Spencer and into his muscles which suddenly gave up and made him fall flat on his face in the airport departure lounge.

Rossi put it down to stress. Spencer wasn't drunk and didn't seem high, he just seemed... _strange_... that would be how Dave would describe it. It was almost as though it wasn't Spencer.

'I'm not sure about this now... yet I am, but you know?' Spencer had muttered as he got back up off the floor. 'I could... maybe get a boat, but I'm in a hurry! Don't be silly... I will fly.'

It was as though he was talking to someone and answering for them. Dave led Spencer to a chair as they waited. They were flying business class. Not quite the jet, but still very good.

'You seem nervous.' Dave said as he handed Spencer a drink of orange juice. 'I've never seen you nervous of flying before.'

'Might be... might just be because...' Spencer snapped his teeth together... 'I know! I know the statistics... of course I do, but have you ever thought that if something does go wrong, then you are helpless. You cannot drive to avoid, you cannot run to the life boats... you can't jump out of the way. When those things drop from the ceiling to give you the air that's being sucked out of your lungs, then your life may as well be over. It's just a thought. But I'm in a hurry! Sam... I have to get to Sam. I have to talk to him and ask what the fuck he thinks he's playing at!' Spencer clapped his hand over his mouth – eyes wide... he never spoke like that! Even When he was at his most angry, he just never used that word. 'I'm sorry.' He muttered and his head started to pound. 'I'm sorry... because... I'm sorry because I don't like to use that sort of language. And I will attempt not to do so again... it's _not_ the sort of sorry you give someone after you've beaten them bloody and stamped the sh – sh – and stamped on them. And... again... I'm just concerned that Sam is in England alone and has no one to help him.'

Dave gave Spencer a curious look. 'Just chill Spencer. We'll get to Sam as quickly as we can. They're keeping him safe for us.'

'And then you'll lock him up again. You'll bring him back and send him away... you'll...' Spencer stopped and started to sip on the drink again. The voice in his head was taking over... and the voice in his head was in a panic... Floyd was in a panic... 'HA! You silly thing.' Spencer said to his voice.

Spencer spent much of the first part of the flight, pacing up and down, until he was requested to sit down by a pretty young lady in uniform. Spencer wanted to just do as he was asked, but the thing in his head had to firstly tell her that she'd look better if she didn't over pluck her eyebrows. Spencer apologised... Said it was stress. Told her that he's not afraid of flying and then told her that actually the people in cattle class, at the rear... they stood a better chance of survival if something deadly went wrong... Again he was asked to sit down and Rossi hunkered down next to Spencer, talking quietly to him in an attempt to keep Spencer calm. Dave had never seen Spencer react like this before and he'd never heard him insult someone in the way he had, even if he had been right and the woman had over done the eyebrow plucking. Reid wanted whiskey to drink. Not his usual tipple, Rossi pointed out. Spencer replied that actually it was. 'Shows how little you know about me.' Spencer snapped out at Dave... Again calming words.

'Why don't you try to sleep?'

He would have loved that but the more the thing in his head became angry at this forced situation, the less likely that would happen. 'I don't want to spend the last moments of my life dreaming of pygmies and rainbows. Not that I would...' He added quickly. 'I think you're right though.'

'I hope so, or they're going to have you arrested the other end for scaring the other passengers. Just calm down. Is it Sam? Is that what's bothering you?' It seemed likely. It was where they were going and Spencer seemed in two minds whether he wanted to see Sam or not. Dave just wasn't aware how accurate his thoughts were.

'Not Sam... Floyd.' Reid told him. 'I need a drink.'

Drinks were available and it seemed silly not to let Spencer have one. Not that it was Dave's job to stop Spencer from having a drink if that's what he wanted. He was a grown man. A very grown man. Not that strange creature who had followed him as though he was Dave's biggest fan. No, this Spencer was not that person at all. In the end Spencer only sipped on the drink before falling asleep. Dave covered him with a blanket and went back to reading the book he'd brought with him, keeping half an eye on Spencer as he did so.

It was with great relief from everyone that Spencer didn't wake up until the seat belt sign came on and they were told they were approaching Heathrow and they hoped they had a happy flight.

'Happy?' Spencer hissed as he righted his seat and strapped himself in. 'I can think of more appropriate words.' But he was not talking to Dave, nor to anyone else... maybe not even to himself, but to that voice spitting and hissing in his head, telling him that he was very far from happy about anything.

And now standing the other side of the window, looking at Sam sitting there... Spencer wanted to tear him apart with his bare hands... But yet had never been so pleased to see something he loathed with all his heart.

'We need to talk to him.' Rossi told the detective standing with them.

'Not here.' Spencer replied. 'You need to remember who and what he is. He'll not react favourably to questioning in that environment. Have you got somewhere more suited to interviews, maybe for with a child?' Spencer gestured lazily towards the room the other side of the window. 'How has he been?' He decided to add.

'Erratic.' The detective let them know. 'He's unstable. Immature. Violent. A prolific liar.'

Dave nodded. 'We know that already, but if he's going to talk to anyone, it will be Dr Reid and he's right. Sam needs to feel as though we are thinking of him. He's a selfish being... he wants to be loved and pampered.'

'Cheese sandwich. Sliced cheese, not grated. Two of them. White bread. No crusts and cut into triangles.' Spencer said. 'Nothing extra. I suspect he's been refusing food and claiming he's been poisoned? Get a fizzy drink in a can so he can hear the pop as he pulls the ring. He needs to feel safe and he needs to know that we're on his side or he'll tell us nothing.'

'Cheese sandwich?' The detective asked. 'Why will he eat that and nothing else we offer him?'

Spencer shrugged. 'I doubt he will eat it, but he will be able to pull it apart and check it for substances which shouldn't be there. I know him. I know what he will eat and what he won't eat and drink when he feels trapped. And he's a caged animal right now. Change the environment and let me talk to him somewhere with pictures on the walls, a rug on the floor maybe and a couch?'

'What else?' The detective asked in his best sarcastic voice which was lost on Spencer completely.

'He needs to feel completely safe and unthreatened. He's only sixteen and sometimes his immaturity clouds his understanding. He might seem older in some respects, but he's got his problems and needs to be handled correctly. So maybe you need to ask him what it is he would like and what would make him feel more comfortable.'

The detective – who was Green, snorted... 'Sixteen? No... he might look young but that's because he's not – well – I assume if you know him that you know he's been castrated?'

Spencer hissed between his teeth and Rossi raised his eyebrows... Now... Spencer had seen Sam naked in his apartment, but he'd kept his eyes firmly off the lower half of him. Surely he'd not have missed a thing like that, though. 'He's what?' Spencer asked.

'He's been castrated. He has no balls. His testicles have been removed via surgery at some point in the distant past. I'd not want to put an age on that boy... he's older than sixteen though. I even had the doctor look at his teeth, but it seems he's filed them. You'd not want to get bitten by it. However, he's not as young as you think. I'll get sorted what you want. When will you be back?'

'Tomorrow.' Dave said. 'I want to see the cemetery and the museum first. And the security footage you have.'

'What little there is. Tomorrow then. I'll let Sam know you'll be back. I suppose you want to see what he had on him when we caught him digging around in the cemetery?' Was that a smug grin on Green's face. Probably. He wanted to see shock on these interlopers... He didn't like having his weird case handed over to these smug yanks... waltzing in... taking control... telling him what to do.

'Oh I wouldn't let him know just yet.' Spencer said. 'But he knows we are here... he can sense it.' He then added. 'I need a smoke.' Spencer then turned on his heel and left the building.

Dave found Spencer sitting on a low brick wall out side of the building puffing on a cigarette. He was holding a slightly crumpled pack in his hand and was staring out across the parked cars in their bays. He sighed when he looked up at Dave.

'We have a few things to do.' Rossi sat on the wall next to Spencer. 'You know Sam pretty well. He's in a strange city. Where would he have hidden that skull?'

Reid shook his head and gestured out towards the cars with his right hand and stuffed the cigarettes into his bag with his left. 'It's not a strange city to Sam. That's the problem. We don't know where he's put it... even if it's still around. And I don't think he's going to tell us either. We can't just expect him to hand over his treasure. He's got all the Aces here, Dave and he's probably got a good few cards he's not played yet. If we're going to play the game with him, we're going to have to cheat.' Another puff on the cigarette. 'And I can cheat along with the best of them.'

'The museum first then; not that there will be much to see. But to get a feel.' Dave stood up and pulled his jacket straight. 'Spencer?'

'There's nothing at the museum _to_ see. What's the point in that? I think a cemetery visit before it gets dark is a better option. Spencer stood now. Or we could split up?'

Dave felt that trust was important. He had trusted Spencer with his life in the past, so why should today feel so different. It was maybe because it didn't feel as though it was Spencer he was talking to, but some shadow standing just behind him... an invisible shadow as it happened. He didn't fully trust that Spencer wouldn't disappear, somehow with Sam in tow... yet he had to. He had no option but to show Spencer total trust.

'I'll meet you back at the hotel in a couple of hours then.' Dave said. That seemed to be enough time to do what they needed and yet not get into too much trouble. 'And keep your phone switched on. I might need to contact you.' Dave was aware of Spencer's odd habit of turning off his phone when it was most needed. He watched Reid pull the slim black phone out of his pocket and indeed turn it on.

'Two hours then.' Spencer gave the police station a backwards glance and then walked off towards a busy road with a stream of black cabs meandering down it.

Spencer got a guide to point out what he wanted to see. It was a short but peaceful walk through the huge cemetery. Graves stood surrounded by wild flowers, birds sung in the trees... it was a sanctuary and Spencer could understand the peace of this place. It was beautiful.

However the area he'd been directed to was slightly apart from the main part. There was a small hill and a copse of trees. A few graves scattered amongst the trees. If Floyd _had_ to be buried in this place then this was the perfect place. He knelt next to the stone with the FFF engraved upon it and ran his fingers over the letters. They were old... the dark grey stone was covered in lichen and moss. This had been here a lot longer than a year. A quick look at the other graves up here showed that they had been here for just over a hundred years... they all had smart head stones, beautiful carved angels... elaborate wording from an also long dead loved one. They were all on the same alignment, Spencer noted, except for the FFF one. He walked back to it and knelt down again... touching where Sam had hacked at the earth, trying to find a way down there. A gentle buzzing travelled through his fingers, up his arm and into his face. He sneezed.

'Is this really you?' Spencer muttered... Logic stated that it wasn't. It couldn't be. It had been here too long. Yet his heart told him that it was. For a moment he wondered how Sam had tracked it down and then he laughed at his own stupidity... Sam had put it here in the first place. Of course he knew where it was... and somewhere around here was the skull. He stood again. 'I'll sort this. We will sort this... all of us.' There was a large patch of brambles not far away. It was towards those that Spencer wandered now. Maybe Sam had thrown it. Maybe Sam didn't have it with him in the first place... or maybe... just maybe, Sam had buried it in the grave. Perhaps he wasn't digging something up when he was found, but burying the bit of Floyd which was missing. There was only one way to find out, at least only one way to find out without asking Sam and that was to dig and see what was there. Again Spencer returned to the marker and the dying grass surrounding it. 'So... what now?'

_Talk to Sam._

The answer came to Spencer so clearly that he spun around expecting to see Floyd standing there behind him. But there was nothing. Of course there was nothing.

'Sam twisted time and buried you before you were even dead.' Spencer moaned. 'Had he not done that... had he not buried you here, then you maybe wouldn't have died.'

_Go and have a drink for me, Babes._

And that reply was a good idea and Spencer smiled at himself. Was there a voice? Was he imagining it? Was he just wishing it was there? It was time to leave anyway and get back to the hotel. And he did fancy a drink and maybe something to eat.

'What do you fancy to eat?' Spencer asked his voice.

There was no reply this time. Maybe because he'd walked too far from the grave? Maybe because there had been not previous replies. He didn't know... but it didn't matter now. He had to get Sam out of that police station, find the skull, and reunite Floyd with whatever it was he was carrying around in his head... if indeed there was something... and on that happy though the headache came pounding back.

He didn't sleep that night in his economy room at the economy hotel. He spent most of his evening pacing the small strip of land between the hotel steps and the road, smoking, muttering to himself and wishing the time would pass faster. There was just so much he needed to talk to Sam about and he had no idea if Sam would be willing. He'd been harsh last time they'd met...

No... not harsh at all... not really. You just don't expect to wake up and find a naked person in the tub with you. That's reason enough to be angry, without all the extras Sam threw in. The bar was open late so he did spend a small amount of time in there drinking... too much drink... and he could smell the whiskey on his own breath as he ordered his next drink. However, he didn't seem to be feeling the effects of it at all. He'd practised this by walking on the lines in the parking lot... he could walk a straight line... legal to drive? He doubted it.

He forwent breakfast. Feeling sick. Feeling like his head was going to explode. Feeling as though he'd been smoking tar. Feeling as though he'd never sleep again... A constant _whoosh whoosh whoosh_ in his ears... blinking too much. Twitching too much. A need to kneel in front of a toilet bowl and throw up. That irritating flashing light he kept seeing out of the corner of his eye... He wanted to curl up in a dark, damp place and cry... scream... and end it all. Yes... he wanted it to end.

Spencer looked around the small cheap restaurant he was sitting in as Dave ate a full English breakfast and wondered if there were any knives sharp enough to hack into his own flesh with. Was that what was needed? Floyd needed him to die so he could rise again like some beautiful but yet vile and vengeful zombie?

'Spencer?' Dave tapped the handle of his knife on the table. 'What's wrong?'

'Oh... nothing. I'll see you outside.' Maybe there'd be a car to run in front of, or a random drive by shooting. He had to live in some sort of hope. That overwhelming need to talk to Sam had died off too. What would Sam tell him? Nothing... that's what. Sam wouldn't want to share what he was seeing as the prize. Sam wouldn't want to share Floyd.

Dave thought Spencer looked done in... or hung over... he didn't smell all that good either and wondered if he'd even used the room he'd been given for the night. Not the most comfortable of rooms. Very basic... but a bed is a bed and they'd all slept in much worse when on duty.

Before they saw Sam again, they were told how he'd spent the night crying and tearing at his bedding. They needed him to be moved. They didn't want him here. They legally couldn't keep him here either. Not without charging him for the theft, and apart from the initial security footage, they had nothing... absolutely nothing.

They were shown the grainy images of Sam smashing the glass with what looked to be a metal hammer. They saw him grab the skull... and that was all there was.

'Security cameras seemed to cut out.' The detective said. 'We have no idea where he went after he grabbed it. He doesn't show up anywhere and the door security didn't see him. It's a mystery. We've even wondered if it's still in the museum somewhere, but as of yet, nothing. That aside... there's this we could have him held for.' A pile of photos were placed on the table. 'I warn you. They're not nice to look at.'

Spencer felt his face twitch as he flipped through them. He hated to say, but he had seem Sam in more provocative poses... and dressed as a girl. What made his stomach hitch slightly was how dreadfully young he looked in some of them. The way he was standing, what he had on... the way he had his hair... he could have been as young as twelve.

'He'll not say where they came from.' Green told them, 'but if you can find out. And he needs to know that he's not in trouble for this. It's child abuse... if you say he's sixteen... under age in every respect.'

'We will ask.' Rossi sighed. 'Is there evidence of anything else he's been up to?'

'Digging in the cemetery...' Green started.

'He means... has Sam been whoring.' Spencer snapped. 'Just say what you mean. This is Sam we're talking about. He was actually being held in a secure unit at a specialist school... he absconded. We all know of Sam's _problems_, this is nothing.' Spencer pushed the photos aside.

'Nothing?' Green slapped them back into a folder. 'If this is nothing, I'd hate to see what your version of _something_ is.'

'No you'd not want to know that.' Spencer stood. 'I'd like to see him alone to start with. Did you sort out an interview room? Somewhere comfortable?'

Sam had been given sweatpants and a Tshirt. Apparently his dungarees fell apart in the wash. His bottom lip had done a small wobble of protest, but he'd changed out of the grubby things he'd been given and then escorted down the _same fucking corridor again!_ … to a different room. He stood in the doorway looking around the room and making small keening noises.

'What the fuck is going on now?' He asked the man in the uniform. Sam could feel a trap about to spring. He spun and looked at the officer standing there. 'Why don't you just shoot me and get it over with?'

'Because I don't carry a gun.' He smirked at Sam.

'Well why don't you just fuck me and get it over with.'

'Just wait in the room, Sam. Someone is coming to see you... I'll bring you something to eat.'

Seemed that the paintings on the walls – woodlands and coastal prints – were screwed in place and Sam couldn't get them off the wall to throw at the first person who came through the door. And though the room looked nice... the table was nailed down, the cushions squeaked with their plastic coverings and the carpet was glued down. There were a few magazines which Sam was going to shred, but couldn't he decided that he just couldn't be bothered. He needed clocks. He wanted a couple of watches, or wall clocks... a small alarm clock or two... just two things, that was all... and there was nothing! Not a bloody thing to use! Floyd was pounding around in his skull, giving him nose bleeds at one moment and then making places inside his sweat pants tingle like crazy... he wanted a bath, he could smell that he'd been sleeping on a wet mattress. He stank of stale piss and arm pits and he wanted to smell of bubble bath and hair products... and hand crème and luxury gels and he wanted just a bit of something nice! And what do they give him?

'A cheese sandwich and a coke.' They were placed on the table for him.

So there he was, pulling the sandwich apart as Spencer had predicted. The coke was a puddle on the floor and a stain on the wall. Sam's eyes looked as though he'd been crying, his hands were shaking and there was a small smear of blood up the side of his face. He was sitting on a the floor in front of the couch with this legs crossed and bits of sandwich surrounding him when Spencer walked in. Sam looked up at him through his dark eyelashes and then back down at the bits of bread and cheese.

'Should have guessed this was your idea?' Slowly Sam got to his feet. 'Can we go now?'

The door closed behind Spencer, both of them heard the _click_ of the lock and Spencer shook his head. 'We have things to talk about first.' Spencer sat down on the couch and patted the area next to him. 'Sit and talk.'

'You told me to fuck off last time you saw me?'

'I don't think I used those words. Sit.'

'Don't fucking tell me what to do, I'm not your dog. I'll stand.'

Spencer nodded and sighed. 'So... I've a list of questions which the police here need answered. Firstly – how did you get into England from America?'

Sam frowned. 'How do you think I did? You have a theory?' Sam moved closer to Spencer. 'Truth is that I stink of piss and so I'll just sit here on the coffee table if that's OK with you. I stowed away in the wheel housing of an air craft. I know it's highly unlikely for someone to survive doing that, but it was fine. I had thermal underwear on and ear muffs.' Sam sat, pushing the magazines out of the way. 'What else do you want to know?'

'Truth?'

'I used magic. There, truth better than fiction? You decide.'

Spencer smiled at Sam. 'You know... I know... I – I know how much...' Spencer stopped talking and stood up, moving over to Sam he sat down next to him. An arm wrapped around Sam and Spencer spoke directly into his ear... it felt oddly like something Floyd would do. Floyd loved spitting his words directly into the ear of his victim... you really didn't want any words to go astray. 'They're listening to us, so just say what needs to be said and I'll try to get you out.' Spencer ruffled Sam's hair and stood again. 'The photos... where did they come from?'

Sam shrugged. 'Someone offered me money to do some photos, then I got a few copies. People will pay a lot of money for filth. And they're genuine disgusting filth... don't you think? Anyway, a boy has to earn a living and... and the pigeons sort of encouraged me... and that niggling voice... it enjoyed it too. I'd not do something Floyd didn't approve of and I was just posing, not doing anything with anyone else... it's not illegal to pose naked for photos... you know that don't you? And I said it was OK... he paid me. He didn't want my cock... just the images. That said, Londoners are no less inclined to want to stick things up my arse than any other nationality. You're going to ask where the skull is... I know that's what you're really here for. It was in a display of fakes... can you believe that? A Fake Floyd Flanders... wonderful... My hands tingled when I touched it. It felt like a bad case of static. It even made my teeth tingle. Spencer, they're not having it back again. They can cry and stamp their feet all they want... they can't have it back.'

'You're in the country illegally...'

'No... let them check on that. I actually have a British passport. I'm a British citizen... it's in America that I'm illegal... so you can forget getting me sent back because I'm not fucking going. Understood? I'm staying here and I'm going to resurrect Floyd and we... we... you and me and Floyd are going to live happily ever after in some lonely wood cabin on a lonely road and there will be chickens in the yard for me to stamp on and sheep for Floyd and you... you can have books... and we'll be so happy! I'll maybe get Levin over here... I can do that and Spencer... don't you want that too? Just us? Happy and not bothered about what the world thinks of us? Not caring a shit about them? But to do that I need clocks and I need your help and I have to get out of here. And before you think otherwise... I hate you still. I still hate you for doing what you did to Lev... and I'll never forgive you for that and maybe that's partly why I'd be so happy to see you and Floyd together, because I know that he'll be mashing your pretty face at least once a week... and that, just that... that knowledge that you'll be caught and not able to escape... that Floyd will have you again as his little cunt boy... and I'll...'

'No.' Spencer snapped.

'No what?' Sam asked... his face flushed with happiness.

'Leave Levin out of this. This mess is yours and mine and Floyd's.'

'Well fuck you! Fuck you mister fucking perfect arsehole! I'm not telling you where the skull is.'

Spencer shook his head. 'You don't have to. I think I already know... which is a shame for you, Sam because if it's me who finishes this off, then you'll be locked away for the production of pornographic material and for theft... oh and... and... for selling your body.' Spencer nodded towards the doorway. 'I told them you are sixteen. They don't believe me. They think you're older. You'll be tried as an adult, Sam. Think about it... British boy.'

'You cunt.' Sam spat. 'You can't just leave me here!'

'Watch me.' Spencer walked to the door and knocked... it clicked open and before Sam could reach him the door was closed and locked. Spencer stood there looking at it for a while, listening to Sam screaming and throwing himself at the door.

He ground his teeth, licked his lips and looked at Rossi. 'He's destroyed it.' He lied. 'I need some fresh air.' Spencer looked again at the door, the noises had died back a bit. Could he really leave Sam here and go off and do this himself? Right now he thought he could do that. Would Floyd need Sam though... for whatever it was he had in his head, Sam had some in his head too. Therefore maybe Floyd would need them both. He needed space, fresh air and peace... he wasn't going to get that at this police station with Rossi looking at him in that way. As long as they made sure Sam had no access to a pair of clocks then everything should work out. 'Just k – k - keep him away fr – fr - from clocks.' Spencer said to Rossi. 'I've g - got my phone.' He made a phone gesture at his ear. 'I need to do something.' Spencer then left without letting them know where he was planning on going. And the stutter was forming again. He had no patience to shout at his brain and try to get it to work properly for him.

Spencer caught a cab back to Highgate Cemetery. He would dig with his hands if needs be, but Sam said he felt a tingle when he grabbed the skull, and Spencer felt a tingle when he touched the ground, his guess was that Sam had hidden it under the loose earth at the FFF marker. Floyd Flanders Franks... his full title. The triple F. The sixth letter of the alphabet. 666... a bit of a laugh really.

It was winter. The nights arrived suddenly and early. Spencer had slid himself into the undergrowth at the top of the hill and stayed there until all he could hear was the distant sound of traffic and the night creatures. He'd turned off his phone for now. But had every intention of switching it back on as soon as he knew for sure what he suspected. There was a moon, small help that it was as it glared down at him through the twisted branches of the leafless trees. He was damp and stiff as he pulled himself out of the bushes and brambles, scratches over the side of his face and across the back of his left hand. No matter. This was going to be over one way or the other, very soon. He pulled back the cuff of his jacket to check the time and for the first time realised that he'd not put his watch on that day. Strange. He was sure he had. It's a habitual thing. And now trying to think back to the morning, couldn't remember if he'd put it on or not... He'd not gone to bed that night... he'd spent it pacing and drinking, so it should, by rights, still be there, but there was no mistaking the distinct lack of it. He pulled out the phone and quickly turned it on, set it to silent and checked for messages and for the time. It was six in the evening... early yet. Too early he thought, but glancing through messages he could see Rossi had left a few... Spencer flicked through the messages with one hand, and keeping to the darkness of the trees, brushed his hair out of his face.

"Contact me." Rossi had said. "Spencer where are you?" The next said. "There is a problem. Contact me as soon as you get this."

Spencer gritted his teeth. He really didn't want to talk to Dave. Didn't want him guessing where he was... so Spencer sent a message back. "What is wrong?" He asked. That was simple. That gave nothing away.

"Sam has gone missing." The reply came quickly. Spencer looked down at his bare wrist and swore lightly under his breath.

'Sam took my watch.' He said with only a small bit of dismay and surprise. He probably had Dave's too.

"How?" He asked in reply.

Immediately back. "He just seemed to disappear. Do you know where he is?"

And although Spencer couldn't hear Dave's voice, he could hear that accusation. If Sam had once again twisted time, he could be anywhere and at any time! Yet... Spencer didn't think he was far. He sat with his head in his hands and wondered... If Sam had altered time then they'd not know. Everything which had happened before he did it would be shifted as though nothing had happened. If he changed things so he'd not taken the skull then they'd not be here. If he'd not been pulled in for trying to dig up Floyd, again they'd not be here, so those two things must have still happened... Then... maybe something else had happened and this is the result of it? Perhaps originally he was sitting here in a cemetery at night, without his watch, for a different reason.

_You're over thinking the problem._

A voice told him.

'I'm not. I have to dig and see if I'm right.'

_And if you are? What then?_

'I expect you to be telling me what to do next.'

_You need Sam._

'Oh I think I can handle this alone.'

But something was wrong. Oh the grave marker was still there and he could still see where Sam had been digging... or maybe it wasn't Sam. Now in this early evening darkness it looked more as though an animal had been scrabbling around here. Something had changed. A small change for sure and if he'd not inspected it so closely before then maybe he'd not notice the difference now, but this _was _different. Spencer gently touched the cold earth.

'It's s – s – s so cold.' Spencer said.

'Don't let my brilliance forestall your lofty aspirations, but I should inform you, begrudgingly... that Floyd's not there. Though I'd never doubt your genius stature and your ability to remember shit no one else can... I think right now, that my personal intelligence and my wondrous abilities leave you as a worm was to Galileo.'

The sudden voice behind Spencer ripped a yelp out of him as he spun around, half on his knees and feeling as though he was falling backwards. 'Wh – What?'

'I'm not comparing myself to the great Galileo. No... no... but have you ever wondered where great people like that got their knowledge? I mean, surely it didn't just pop into their heads one day. That just can't be right can it? Why did he think so differently... Spencer are you all right?'

'How... how did... how did you...'

'Hush – you're going to take all fucking night adding one word at a time. I took your watch. I then took Rossi's fucking gold Rolex... I mean, really, what sort of cunt wears a gold Rolex when I'm in the same room. Worth a bloody fortune! Fortune though is a fickle thing and the watch broke. I've still got yours.'

'How? When?'

'You think I'd let an arsehole like you sit and put his arm around me if I didn't have a reason? Spencer... Floyd isn't here, but I can take us to where he is and I can show you where the skull is, but because I spilt the... well... the food... we have to be there together to finish this off. But don't you for one fucking minute think that you're going to walk off into the sunset and leave me behind because it's me who is run ragged with the work I've been doing whilst you've been mooching around following up on cold clues. Got it? I'm not your dog any more. I've given up a lot for this and I'm not going to let you trample me down now.'

Spencer slowly got to his feet and walked away from the grave, deeper into the shadow of the trees. He didn't want to stand there and argue with Sam over what he'd done. The loss of his own watch was not too much for Spencer to deal with, but Dave would be going spare with angst over the loss of his. He would be howling for its return. 'K – keep your v – voice d – d...'

'… down?' Sam asked. 'Fine... but you know we don't have forever to do this. He's actually not in the east Cemetery at all... I moved him to the west... and then dug a tunnel from here to there. Took me fucking for sodding ever to do it and only because I knew that was the only way to get you there too... because I don't think you're going to be able to climb fences and such as you're such a worthless mother fucking lame head who can't even talk properly half of the time. I've got a torch... a flash light to you, not a flame... a battery operated thing.'

'I know what a t – t - torch is. How did you mmmove him? When?'

'Oh... about fifty years ago.' Sam shrugged. 'Time is really complex, Spencer, when you can alter it and turn it to your own advantage. But I can only do so much and then they start asking for things in return... and I'm all out of testicles... and have you ever given a ten foot demon a blow job? No... don't even bother answering because I know you'd drown in what came out of that hungry cock... I could feel it... wiggling... all the way down... it was like the most fucking horrible thing ever. Apart from having needles stuck in my eye or my teeth pulled... that was horrible too. And so was being mauled by dogs and being... ah... well it was close to the top anyway and I don't want to have to do it again and they've said I'm all out of moves for the season and so whatever we do now we have to do right and then we have to wait. But, before you go off on some rant about waiting... well you might age, but I won't so waiting is what I offered to do and we can get the cabin ready and maybe you can get a job here, digging graves?'

'Where is he?'

'Floyd would be so, so proud of you! A full sentence! Oh my fucking god! I stand here struck with awe and wonder. It is a day which should be marked down in the scrolls and read back to children as a lesson in... in something.'

'Where is he?' Spencer repeated. Sam slapped a flashlight into his hands and warned him not to turn it on yet. 'We don't want to get caught at this delicate stage of our, no – _my_ hard work. As far as I can tell, all you've done to assist was to be daft enough to put your arm around me and thus donate you watch.'

Spencer crouched down next to a tree and indicated for Sam to do likewise. Sam annoyed him generally, but tonight the irritation was reaching a point where he wanted that gun again... the three bullets in the head would suit Spencer just fine. He wanted to ask questions, but when he opened his mouth to ask, the brain blocked all activity. He squeezed his eyes shut and just sighed.

'What? What now?' Sam demanded. 'We have to get this sorted before it's too late. This way.' Sam jumped back to his feet when Spencer still didn't say anything and keeping to the blackest of the darkness walked down the small hill and around the side where there stood a row of graves. Big things standing almost chest high. Elaborate patterns and angelic forms covered them. Inscriptions wound their way along the ends, telling of love and more love and a little bit of sorrow. Spencer didn't spend too much time trying to make out what it all said. The early evening light wasn't good enough and neither he or Sam dared turn on the flashlights yet.

Sam moved to a certain grave and ran fingers over the edge. 'Along here... push.' Sam told Spencer who walked quickly to join him.

'You intend pushing the lid off?' This was not something Spencer had in mind to do. Not at all. Push that off and Sam would try to get him in there and trap him. Not the way Spencer wanted to die.

Sam muttered a curse under his breath and prodded Spencer on the arm. 'It's not what it looks to be. There's a stairway under it and a tunnel leading to the other part of the cemetery. We can't reach it otherwise. I thought I'd explained all of that.' He then shoved the top of the altar-tomb again. 'Some help would be nice. Once it's back there's a thing inside to winch it back into place, but I didn't have time to create secret unlocking buttons and levers on the outside. Come on!'

Spencer prodded the top of the tomb and sighed. If there was nothing there he'd hit Sam around the head with his _torch_ and walk away. If there really were steps going down – and he had strong doubts... no... maybe it wasn't a doubt he was feeling here. It was some other feeling. An emotion. Mistrust? No... He stood staring at Sam for a while trying to understand exactly what it was he was feeling here and he thought it might have been akin to jealousy which was absolutely ridiculous! What did he have to be jealous of?

The fact that Sam had done all of this and he'd sat back and done nothing?

The fact that it would be Sam, Floyd would want if this worked?

The matter that he's done nothing but follow Sam around like a sick dog and not contributed... apart from the watch and that was accidental.

Had it been left to him he would certainly have grieved and mourned and then... then he would have slowly moved on. It would have taken years. It would have been painful, but there would have been a chance to heal. And as so many people had said to him in that _understanding_ voice... "You really are lucky. His death was your only escape." and of course... "It was you or him." And in a way they were right. Yes he'd been mourning. Yes he'd felt the pain of loss and the nightmares and... and he knew that he'd not wake up with a black eye or with his ribs hurting or blood dried under his nose. He knew that he could leave the apartment with a cell phone in his pocket and he could chew gum... eat at the wrong time of the day. Sleep on the couch... and not use a coaster. He was in that respect free... and it was a good feeling! It was!

Yet night after night alone. No one to read to; though oddly he still read aloud... no one to make coffee for. No need one to fold towels for or change bedding for. No one to sit and wait for... no one.

And he missed that ache in his chest. And he missed the sore throats and that odd feeling of waking up on the floor in a sticky mess. He missed Floyd... and it didn't matter if his obsession for the man would end up killing him, because Spencer knew that he'd be dead before the year was out either way. He thought of the morphine Sam had provided and then looked at the skinny dark haired lad standing there waiting for Spencer to do something. If this was going to be a fight between them, if only one of them could have the prize, then Spencer was not going to stand by and watch Sam snatch it from him. He gave Sam a small smile and nodded, licked his lips and asked where the top stone needed to be pushed from.


	5. Chapter 5

Grave Decisions

Once they'd pushed the top stone aside they could shine their flashlights down into the dark and for the first time, Spencer wondered if Sam was actually telling the truth.

No... not the first time. He'd been wondering it all along. It was not easy to tell. Sam and Floyd both had heads so full with fabrications that when they did tell the truth it was a bit of a surprise, but there they were... about twenty feet of rough stone steps leading down into damp and darkness. Spencer let out a small groan... this meant going down there now... at least had there been a real burial here Spencer could have known Sam for the false creature he was and walk away. Now though he had to go down there.

'You first.' Spencer instructed. He didn't want Sam closing that thing again above his head.

'Fine.' Sam snapped. 'But I'll be locking it so if you change your mind and close it over my head then you're out of this for good.'

'Just g - go.' Spencer told him.

'You're always telling me to go... but really you want me, don't you? Fancy a bit of something amongst the graves...? a bit of...'

'A bit of nothing. Get going and show me how it locks and unlocks again.'

There was a small lever on the inside. Sam pulled it and the slab slowly and noisily closed above them. He then pushed the lever down further and told Spencer that was how it locks... just pull it up to open it again. Then running with his flashlight bouncing off the walls, the sloped ceiling and the steps, Sam was gone. Spencer followed with more caution... one hand running along the wall which seemed to be made of hard packed earth. It got stonier as they went lower. The air was damp and stuffy and at the bottom of the steps, Spencer had to duck slightly. Sam, he noted, didn't. Once off the stone steps, Spencer took a deep breath and shone his light along the tunnel. Sam was crouched down looking very smug... overly smug. The sort of smug which Spencer wanted to slap away, even though he knew he'd not... let Sam be smug about this... Floyd knows what is going on here. Floyd would know.

'Well the tunnel slopes down a bit and then rises again the other side. I didn't want to risk them burying someone and finding it, and I didn't want to come across ancient corpses as I dug.'

Spencer's face twitched slightly. 'You didn't dig this yourself. How did you get rid of all the earth. There must be tons of it removed from here.'

'I dug another tunnel and stuffed the dirt in there.' Sam explained. 'You want more than that, you're going to be unlucky. Come on... I'll collect the skull on the way.' Sam then stood up and walked up to Spencer, looking up into Spencer's hazel eyes with his dark ones. 'You realise that I could have done this myself. I could have put the skull back before now. I could have done all of this without you. I didn't need to give you part of him to carry... and really the bit you have is not totally necessary, it's so small... so insignificant – but nope... I waited. I told you where the bones are. I came and got you and I showed you the secret passage. That's not because I like you. Remember that. It's because Floyd likes you and I love Floyd and he'd have wanted it this way. So... just saying... you're not needed and if you try to spoil things for me, I'll fucking rip you apart. Understood?'

'Hmm.' Spencer muttered taking a few steps forward with his head ducked down. 'Does the tunnel stay this – this height?'

'No... I made it bigger just for you. I called in extra favours and explained that the tunnel would have to be bigger because poor Spencer might mess his hair up on the ceiling.'

'Ah...'

'For fuck... no. I made this for me. You didn't even cross my mind. Come on.' And off Sam went, swinging the light side to side as he jogged along. Jogging though was not an option for Spencer. Though the floor was free from obstructions, the ceiling wasn't. There were lumps of stone in just the right place to tear a trench through Spencer's skull if he wasn't careful, tree roots wound there way down in places; thick and ropey... like the rope of a hang man... just waiting. Sam seemed to easily avoid things from above, Spencer had to go slowly, shining his light up high and not jumping and yelping when something brushed against his face. Showing any sign of fear now would have just given Sam more ammunition for spite, who Spencer thought looked almost like a dark spider scuttling ahead of him... he'd pull those legs off and see what happened...

'Here.' Sam had stopped his odd loping jog and was crouched down in the dirt picking at the side of the tunnel. Spencer hunkered down next to him, with his back against the other side... he had a bit of a neck ache now... and thinking of that... the headache he'd been suffering for so long seemed to have gone.

'Wh – what?'

'I hid the skull here.' Sam pulled out a good few chunks and reached into the wall, pulling out a wooden box. It was square and had big brass hinges and a lock on the front. 'I'll carry it... as I've done all the work so far.' Sam stroked the box and Spencer thought he heard a low buzzing sound. He reached out to touch, but Sam lifted it up and away from Spencer. 'If you'd helped... you know, I gave you so many hints and clues when you were talking to me. Even way back when Levin spoke to you... but you never followed anything up.'

'Clues? Levin hardly said anything to me.'

'You just didn't listen. Too busy wondering how to get him into your pants. Pervert. And all that time Floyd needed you.' Sam stood and looked down the passage. 'Not much further and then we'll be out on the other side. 'I'm feeling a tad stressed. I don't want you to ruin things by running off or screaming and alerting people.'

'I won't be screaming.' Spencer hissed at Sam. He'd seen enough horrors in his life now not to find a few bones frightening. He closed his eyes and saw that shadowy form slicing into Floyd again... and shuddered. Maybe he wasn't all screamed out after all.

'Don't be so sure.' Sam muttered back at him.

It actually didn't take long to navigate the tunnel which had a very slight curve in it at one point and in another place they had to cut through some tree roots... rather Sam had to. Sam had the knife. Spencer offered to assist by holding the box, but got spat at as a reply. Again it didn't take long, but now Spencer was concerned that the whole thing was going to come down on their heads and telling Sam he should have shored it up wasn't going to help.

'If it comes down on us we'll be dead, or at least you will be. I'll just claw my way out again and Floyd will know I did my best. I really don't care enough about you to be bothered.'

Spencer let it go. There was no point in arguing the point... he could see stone steps rising in front of them out of the dirt... How stone suddenly appeared in the dirt tunnel, again Spencer didn't know and was not going to get anything by fairy stories from Sam, so he wondered about it but kept his mouth shut. At least for now. The way up wasn't so far... they would be coming out lower down in the ground.

'Right.' Sam said as he sat on the bottom step. Spencer hunkered down in front of him. 'There's a big mausoleum to some very rich lord. It's massive and it's beautiful and we cannot touch anything or mess around... it's just some stone boxes with bones in it after all... and we're going to be inside so no one will see us... and downstairs from there is a crypt which no one has been in – except me – for a hundred years or so. It was used for storage, but the place is not used at all now, so it's not needed. That is where Floyd is. There are secret panels and slabs and it's dark down there and full of rats and it's dead creepy and your cell phone won't work... and whatever happens, Spencer... I mean whatever... I don't want my bones to rest there forever, so if I suddenly drop dead, don't assume it's a good place to leave me, because I'll come back and fucking haunt the hell out of you... and remember that you don't know what has to be done, because you didn't do research on resurrection of Angels and I did... so...'

'Fine.' Spencer held out his hand. 'I would like to see the skull before we go further.'

'What you would like isn't on my agenda. Remember we are doing this for Floyd because I love him to bits and back and you like him too... and that's the only reason you're here, because for some peculiar reason, Floyd likes you and has done since you were a kid... and probably wanted to screw your kiddy arse off then too... I know I wouldn't have. I think you were one hell of a creepy kid.'

'Shall we go?' Having to rely on Sam like this was not right. He shouldn't be walking into what was probably going to be his last resting place. And though Sam didn't want to remain here for an eternity, Spencer thought this cemetery rather wonderful, with the statues of angels peering out from the undergrowth, and sleeping forms set into stone... a magical place. Sam turned and trotted up the steps. The opening to the next part, into the actual mausoleum was a small stone square in the end wall, rather than in the roof. Sam put the wooden box down and with both hands seemed to push and slide the slab out of the way. They crawled out into a large white room with a vaulted ceiling. As Sam replaced the bit of wall they'd crawled through, Spencer stood and looked around the room. There were double doors on the wall they'd come out of and a huge curve in the wall the other side. The two remaining sides of the room had alcoves of about seven foot... each side had six of these and in each stood the image of an angel carved from white stone. Along the curved wall were stone shelves covered in snow globes of all sizes. Spencer estimated that there were fifty of so of them, but for now he stood unmoving, just looking. There were three tombs here and each of them were elaborately carved with flowers, angels, animals... strange mythical beasts... Everything was white. Everything was dust free. The floor had white tiles... the ceiling was painted with white clouds on a very pale blue sky. It was beautiful. He turned to Sam and gave him a small smile. He didn't get one back again.

'It's over here.' Sam moved quickly, box in hand to the foot of one of the statues. For a moment Spencer thought Sam was going to press a nipple of maybe even pull an arm down to reveal a secret door... but no. Sam pulled up a slab off the floor which swung back easily on hinges. 'Down there.' Sam waved the flashlight. 'We don't have time to look around up here. Maybe later?' He pointed downwards again. 'The steps are wooden and you need to be careful... though why I'm telling you to be careful, I don't know. Best thing to happen now would be for you to fall and break your neck. It would solve a problem huh?'

Spencer allowed Sam to go first. The wooden steps were sodden and almost spongy to walk on. Here there were no pretty white walls or faces of angels. Here there were mushrooms growing out of the brickwork and a deep dark scuttling sound. A constant dripping could be heard too. Had it been Halloween, Spencer might have enjoyed this, but it wasn't and _he_ wasn't. He stood there looking down at the top of Sam's head as he moved quickly but carefully down the steps. Spencer marked the ones Sam had trodden on and the ones he'd missed... he marked when Sam trod to one side or the other, and once Sam was at the bottom, Spencer followed. The steps creaked and seemed to sway slightly, but they held his weight. By the time he'd reached the bottom, Sam was lighting oil lanterns which were hanging on the bare brick walls. Four pillars stood in this room, holding up the ceiling above them. There were wooden, rotting shelves and in the middle a plain tomb... this one stood in murky darkness, with water dripping down the sides and puddling onto the floor. They both stood there with the head height only a few inches above Spencer's head. People must have been shorter in the days this had originally been constructed. Sam placed the box now on the floor. And put his hands on the top of the tomb.

'Ready?'

Spencer shook his head. 'No... how can I possibly be ready to see this?' His hands had gone into fists at his sides. 'And I need to know what we have to do... Just place the skull with the rest?' This conversation was hurting. Hurting his head and hurting his heart. If this was a game Sam was playing, Spencer would possibly have to hurt him... badly... for an extended period of time.

'OK... we add the skull at the top of the bones, you know... where it should be. And then we have to... erm... add liquid as such... and then...'

'Liquid?'

'Piss on the bones... or bleed on them. Whatever you feel more comfortable doing. You could even toss off over them... if that gives you pleasure... you need to allow what part of Floyd is inside of you to leave.'

'But... but... b...'

He didn't say more. Sam was already pushing the lid out of the way. This seemed to take little effort and there was no horrible scream as stone rubbed on stone... there was just the squeaking of rats, the dripping of water and Spencer's blood pounding in his ears.

'Oh dear god.' He stepped back as the light shone down onto the contents. Spencer had been expecting a neat pile of white bones. Clean... polished and maybe even beautiful... but no... these bones had clothing on. These bones had bits of flesh clinging to them. He could see the hands resting on the chest. The shirt which had been ripped up the middle. The dark crust of old blood. The black jeans with some kind of mould growing on them... the belt buckle with "WHORE" embossed on it. The boots... his damned boots... And the smell. The smell of very old death... the withered rotting form in that stone box... it was Floyd. He'd not doubt that... couldn't doubt it, but he didn't want to look on it again. Instead he walked to the corner of this damp and dirty room and vomited into a growth of mushrooms.

'What did you expect?' Sam snarled from behind him. 'You left him. You abandoned him and this is what happens when you leave a body to rot. They ROT! This is your fault. You did this! This is all you! Are you happy? Is this the ending you wanted? Are you free from Floyd now? Does your heart still hammer when you think of him? Do you love what you left behind? Do you? Are you fucking happy?'

Spencer slowly wiped the puke from his mouth and turned around. 'He told me not to forget him. I didn't. He told me to run... I did... I did what he told me to do, Sam. This is not my fault. What did you want me to do? Stand there and let a demon tear me apart as well? Do you think that would have helped Floyd if I had?'

'No... wouldn't have helped him, but it would have helped me. And if he'd not been distracted by your jaw line, or your ears... or your collar bones... or your hips... or the way you looks so puzzled sometimes, or the way your hair waves gently... or maybe the way you lick your lips... or stand, or breathe, or walk, or smell... if... if he'd not been distracted then this wouldn't have happened.'

Spencer raised his eyebrows at Sam. Did he really think that? 'If he'd not been distracted then, that creature would have waited. Maybe he would have been with you, looking at your hands, or your nose, or musing over the way your hips bones jut out... or the curve on the small of your back... or your hair... maybe it would have been you... and then what?'

'I would be dead. Because I wouldn't have run away like a fucking frightened baby!'

'I see... You really think that?'

'We'll never know. Shall we get on with this?' Sam pointed back to the tomb.

'I'm not going to urinate on Floyd.' Spencer let him know.

'Whatever.' Sam shrugged and returned, unlocking the box and pulling from it the skull which Spencer was seeing now for the first time. 'And I know that if it had been different, you'd not have included me.' And Sam was correct on that. 'You wouldn't have fed me bits of Floyd... would you?'

'No.' Spencer conceded. 'Nor would I have willingly eaten any of him myself. I would have assumed he was dead... and looking in there...'

'He's virtually killed himself before. We have all the bones. That's the difficult bit. He has trouble growing back bone... limbs... you know? But we have everything. Any small missing bits he'll deal with. Want to hold this?' He held out the skull and for a moment, Spencer thought it wasn't Floyd... but that buzzing from the box moved now into this fingers... he could see the places where bone had healed. The places Rossi had pointed out. The places he'd pointed out. The bullets to the head... the self inflicted damage when he drilled holes through the bone to release pressure. It was all there. The teeth... oh those teeth. He quickly handed it back to Sam. Who smirked a knowing smirk and lowered it into the tomb to lay in place where the demon had sliced it off. There seemed to be an audible sigh around the room. A huge breath released. The rats stopped their noise and something upstairs fell over and smashed... one of the snow globes most probably.

'Now fluid.' Sam pulled out his knife. 'Floyd... I hope to hell this works. I need this to work. Please mend yourself and come back.' He pulled the blade through his hand and cut a deep slice. He then drew a fist and held it over the decayed body... letting the blood drip down... and again the feeling now as though air was rushing down into the room. A dreadful sound of grinding stone from above as though things were being dragged around up there. Spencer looked upwards and then at Sam who... would you believe this – had forced out tears to drop down onto the corpse. 'Your turn.' He muttered... handing over the knife. 'Just do what I did.'

'Would this work better with more?' Spencer took the blade and held it in his right hand. Sam was still bleeding over the corpse which now didn't look so horrific. It didn't stink... it looked fuller... the hands looked almost flesh coloured again... so soon? Not even Floyd could do something that fast... not this sort of something... Spencer then looked at the throbbing vein in the side of Sam's neck. Slicing into that would speed everything up. He was sure of it... very sure. A voice in his head was screaming that at him... just one cut. And no guilt. Sam wasn't even really here. He was... he was not what he appeared to be.

'How many times has Floyd saved your life?' Sam asked Spencer as he sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. 'Don't you think you owe him something in return? Not that it's needed, but you know it would be nice if you showed some kind of – I dunno – gratitude?'

'If this is a game...'

'This isn't the sort of game I enjoy playing. I'd rather be out on the streets sucking dicks and being fondled, or laying back in the dark with drugs throbbing through me. Those are the games I enjoy, not messing around like this. It's not a game. If you don't want to help then go and sit over there on your own. Floyd knows who is helping and who is sitting back waiting for someone else to do the work. And if you were going to stick that knife in me, you'd have done it by now... so stop dreaming about what you'd like and get it done. For the love of fuck.'

So he did as Sam had done, and drew the blade of the palm of his hand, made a fist and watched the blood dripping down onto the remains in the make do tomb. Spencer wasn't going to cry. He wasn't going to give that to Sam as something he could throw back at him later. He waited until the blood stopped flowing and then stood back. He'd thought there'd been a change in what was in the tomb, but there wasn't. It had been a trick of the light. He then moved forwards and brushed his fingers over the belt buckle. How many times had he felt that spiteful bit of metal pressing into him? He probably had the shape of it forever marked on his back and arse. He touched the fabric on the shirt and wondered if he'd be able to wash the blood out of it. Again... time after time he'd covered for Floyd by getting rid of blood from his clothing. Gently he touched Floyd's leg... his thigh and then his arm and he swept his fingers over the buttons on the cuff of the shirt. 'I miss you.' He sighed and then felt that sting behind his eyes and so quickly moved away to where there were shadows made from the pillars and lanterns. 'How long will it take, Sam?'

'I don't know.' Can a muffled and sobbed reply. 'I hope it's not too long because the cops are going to have me locked away somewhere. They think I'm crazy.'

'Any one who breaks into a mausoleum and drips his blood onto a corpse might be thought as crazy. I'll be locked away too, if that's the case.'

'Yeah.' Sniffing and then some silence.

'Do we wait here?'

'No... we should go. He'll find his own way out. Should cover him though to keep the rats away.'

It was unknown territory for Spencer and suddenly he felt light headed and empty. As though something had been torn away from him. Sam seemed very subdued and when Spencer asked him, once they were out and standing together in the deep shadows of the cemetery, what they needed to do next, Sam didn't seem to know. He seemed to have lost that smug awareness he'd had. The dark smudges under his eyes were deeper and he was shaking slightly.

'I have to go. Are you waiting until they unlock the gates?'

'I need time alone to think.' Spencer replied. 'You can go if you want. I need to get my head around what just happened.'

'Nothing just happened.' Sam sank down to his knees and put his head in his hands. 'What if we got it wrong? What if that's not what we were meant to do? What if Floyd is really forever dead?' Sam grabbed Spencer's arm. 'What will we do? How will we cope without Floyd? Without the hope of him? What point is there in life without him? Will I start to age, do you think? I've given up so much, Spencer, so much... so much more than you could think of... I gave up everything for this and now I don't know if they were telling me truth? Do you think they were? They castrated me. They said I have to prove my devotion to him by giving up something precious and so I let them do that. They held me down and I screamed and they sliced them off then showed me what they'd taken and I can't grow things back like Floyd. Will he hate me now I'm not what I was?'

'Who? Who did... who...?'

Sam gestured around his head with a blood smeared hand. Them. The ones in control of everything. The ones who sent that mother fucker to take his head...'

'Makes no sense Sam.' Spencer thought of putting an arm around him and giving him comfort. It really didn't make sense. 'It the demon was sent by Them... why tell you how to make things right again? Why would they do that?' Spencer glanced down the hill to the tomb they'd climbed back out of.

'Now you point that out? Now that we've done it? Fucking hell Spencer! And anyway, most of what I was told was just there in my head... maybe it wasn't them who told me?'

'If not... the castration?'

'Fuck... maybe it was a trick?' Sam stood up and for a while Spencer thought Sam might explode. But he ended up just sliding his hands down the front of the baggy sweat pants he had on and bursting into childish tears. He wouldn't have been all that shocked if Sam had started sucking his thumb. Again... again he thought of giving comfort and again he decided not to.

'You... Sam... Listen.'

Sam turned wet eyes towards Spencer. 'If it was a trick then I've lost my balls for nothing.' Sam whined. 'Though the scar tickles, it's not quite the same. I loved it when Floyd sucked on them... now he'll not like me, will he?'

'Sam... when it's daylight, I will leave. I will contact Rossi and police will be out searching for you. I will have to say... I will... I... can't. I can't lie.'

'You'll tell them what we've just done?'

'No... but I will have to say that I don't know where you are now... understand. If you tell me... I will know and I will have to tell them.'

'What? They going to put you on the rack or flay you until you give up top secret information? Why can't you just say you don't know where I am? Why can't you lie for me when I've done all of this for you?'

'For yourself. You wanted me to be part of this. That was you, not me. I suggest you leave now. This has all opened a wound I thought had mostly healed. It's like it's just happened all over again and I just need to be alone for a while.'

'But he's coming back isn't he? That's why I gave up what I had. It was to prove.'

'No... you got yourself gelded because... I don't know why. I don't understand your mentality... you screw with my head more than Floyd ever did. I could at least sort of understand why he did what he did, but you? You're just an animal with animal instincts and I can't even get close to understanding you.'

Spencer was sitting on the bed in his hotel room. Rossi sat on the small chair next to the desk. They wore matching frowns. Spencer was so tired that he thought if Rossi didn't say something soon that he'd fall asleep where he sat. His hand was throbbing with every beat of his heart. He'd wrapped toilet tissue around it... he needed to get stitches. The wound was much deeper than he'd thought at the time.

'So are you going to tell me where you disappeared to?' Dave finally said...And it was a questions Spencer didn't really want to answer. He let out a long sigh...

'I went to the cemetery again.'

'All night?'

Spencer gave a small nod. 'They gates get locked.'

Now Rossi had a nod too. 'And you didn't think to call? You didn't think that I'd be concerned... with Sam going missing...'

'Dave...' He started but stopped at that point. How could he reason with Dave when he'd have to fill the conversation with lies? 'I shouldn't have left America. I need to see my therapist. I need to go home. I know that you're going to ask me if I know where Sam is, and I don't. I have no idea where he is. I hardly know where I am myself. This is no longer anything to do with us. Sam is the business of the British Police. Not us... not you... not me.'

'You're right in as far as I shouldn't have brought you here. That was my mistake. I'll get you booked on a fight back when you're ready. I need to stay. I need to see this through or find Sam.'

'You'll be wasting your time. I expect he's left the country. He's not going to sit around waiting for you to find him. England is too small. He'll be seen. Maybe he's gone back to mainland Europe? Perhaps to that country he came from originally?'

Dave now shook his head. 'He's still around. I can almost smell him. I'll book you a flight for tomorrow. Get you back home...'

Spencer tightened his jaw, ground his teeth, then stood. 'I'll need to sleep then.'

'You'll be all right flying alone?'

'I'm not a child. Of course I'll be all right. When have I ever not been all right flying?'

A small confused, but polite nod from Rossi and at last Spencer was alone. At last. And for a few moments that felt good. No nagging voices in his head. Nothing pending... no great plan to figure out. Nothing to slap him around, take his watch or rummage in his back pockets... a total silence. Complete emptiness. He would have soaked in the bath, but for the sudden idea that Sam would turn up. He took a hot shower, pulled on underwear and collapsed onto the bed.

'Time to move on.' He looked at the flickering numbers on the alarm clock. 'And I don't know that I want to. I don't know that I want to be without you... Floyd? Floyd... just let me know you're still there.' Silence.

As silent as the grave... isn't that what they say?


	6. Chapter 6

Home is Where the Heart Bleeds

A month. A month in which Spencer had time to try to get to grips with life again. He had contacted Rossi and told him to remove his name from any list there might be. He didn't want to assist them. He couldn't. It wasn't what he needed, picking at old scabs... turning over things which needed to be laid to rest. He never wanted to look at photos of dead bodies again. He never wanted to smell that heady fresh aroma of a new kill. He didn't want to be involved at all. Ever... With that clear and with the phone placed down on the desk, Spencer had to find a way to fill his days. Fill them in new ways. Not trying to replace what was lost and could never be returned. He had said his goodbye to Floyd. He never wanted to see Sam again... it was finished.

Chess. He played a lot of chess. At home alone, in the park with a random person... in the coffee shop down the road.

Manga. He bought a huge collection of Manga graphic novels and when the nights were dark and he had nothing to do but listen to music and stare at the wall, then he'd pull out a bit of Manga and slowly look at the pictures and slowly read the words aloud.

Drawing. Nothing special, but his therapist had suggested it for days when he was strung so tight he could hardly move. Those days when he was standing in the hallway for five hours with his mind on only one thing... and that one thing keeping him there... That body... that body in the grave. But the drawing worked. Patterns... or even just colouring in a book.

Spencer was able to live off savings. He'd spent hardly any of his own money all the time he'd known Floyd. He'd been a kept man in every respect. Still... even now... even from the grave, Floyd was paying his bills and strange lumps of money appeared in his bank account... a bunch of roses was delivered for his birthday, early or late? He wasn't sure. Tickets for the theatre. Tickets for a ball game! An old leather bound book arrived one day. It the most beautiful thing Spencer had ever seen. The pages had been hand copied. The illustrations inked in gold, red, blue... bright colours swirling down the margins and swelling into fantastical mythical forms in the corners. He didn't know where it came from. He had no idea who sent it, but someone was looking out for him.

Then one evening as Spencer sat sipping red wine and reading a book about the life cycle of the moth... a knock on the door. That normally wouldn't have been unusual, except that you needed a pass key to get through the doors downstairs, unless someone had let a person in... you had to use the buzzer. Or perhaps it was a neighbour. Spencer put the drink down on a coaster, and put the book to the side and stood.

Again a light tapping at the door. A nervous sound. As though whoever was there didn't want to be there... would rather be anywhere but the other side of that door. It must be Sam...

'But Sam has a key. Sam wouldn't knock. Floyd... apart from being dead... he wouldn't knock... scratch... and claw... but not knock. Rossi? Garcia?' He could think of no one else.

Spencer couldn't see who it was through his spy hole in the door, so he pulled off the lock but left the chain on, and pulled the door open a few inches.

'Levin?'

Levin was standing there in one of his long fancy leather coats, his hair hanging in a mess over his face which looked a bit bruised. He peered at Spencer and put a hand on the door to push it right open. 'I need your help.' He spoke softly.

'Go away.' Spencer was about to close the door but Levin curled his fingers around the edge.

'Please. It's Sam. I don't know what to do.'

Spencer almost laughed. He wanted to laugh, but the worried look on Levin's face stopped him. 'I can't get involved with your relationship with Sam. Sort it out yourself or simply move to another city where you can start over with someone who won't hit you. If there exists such a person.'

'Relationship? No... I'm not in a relationship with Sam.' He actually sounded disgusted at the idea of it. His lip curled and he shook his head. 'Please, can I come in?'

'Five minutes is all you have. If you're not gone by then I will call up security and have you removed and arrested for trespass. You shouldn't be here. You should use the buzzer. That's what it's there for.' Spencer shut the door, removed the chain and opened it again. Levin almost fell into Spencer's apartment. He stood straight, back against the wall. Hands at his side. It didn't look as though this man, who looked like a dancer... oddly delicate... wanted to be here any more than Spencer wanted him here.

'Sam came to see me. He was out of his mind with distress. He wouldn't tell me what was wrong, but he kept saying that his life was over. There was nothing left for him. So I told him to see a doctor. I told him that he was high... I told him to go sort himself out, but like a fool – because I do like Sam – I let him stay the night. I let him sleep on the couch. I told him in the morning to take a shower then leave. I heard odd sounds coming from the bathroom and when I went in to see what the hell was going on, he was trying to hang himself from the tall radiator on the wall! I managed to get him down and I managed to calm him, but only by saying he could stay another night. I don't as a rule have house guests if they're not paying. I don't like losing money in that way. You can understand that can't you? Well next he took a load of painkillers and I made him throw them up. Then I caught him in the kitchen with a knife pressed against his wrist. There was blood, Spencer. He'd cut deep. I wanted to take him to hospital, but he'd not let me. I had to trick him. I took him to my bed and laid him there, wrapping cloth around his bleeding wrist... and as he lay there on his stomach... I hand cuffed him to the headboard... and his ankles... and came here as quickly as I could. I don't know what to do and I don't want a dead body in my apartment. It was expensive to kit it out the way I have... blood pools and corpses spoil things rather. I need you to come and get him. I can't have him in my place by this time tomorrow. I have an important client. You understand...' All of this was said in not much more than a whisper. His lips hardly moving, his eyes locked onto Spencer's. Only now did he blink... and twitch his fingers slightly.

'I don't know what you expect me to do.' And he didn't! What did Levin expect? That he'd bring him back here and have to deal with Sam's attention seeking? No... wasn't going to happen. He wasn't going to get involved.

Levin twitched a bit of a smile, but that's the only thing he did. Again he spoke hardly moving his mouth... whispering his words. 'You know him better than I do. You will know what to say to him. You can talk him out of this and... comfort him.'

Spencer shook his head. 'No. I said no... and I mean it. He went to you because he was in a relationship with you. Whatever that was, I don't care and don't want to know, but if he wanted me, he'd have come here. Go sort it yourself, Levin. I'm not interested. I can't be. I don't want to have to deal with Sam. Just tell him what he wants to hear. Tell him how lovely he is. Give him what he wants... give him what you were giving him before. That's as far as I'm going to get involved in this. Now leave. You've had your five minutes and you didn't persuade me.'

Levin nodded slowly. 'I cannot have him in my apartment. I can't have him there when my client arrives.'

'You really think that I care about you missing a client? Why not go whore yourself in an alleyway? Or is The Seraphim too important of a whore to do that?'

Levin sniffed and blinked again. 'I'm not a whore.'

'Drug dealer then.'

'I don't take drugs and I don't deal them. You've misunderstood.'

'Then what exactly are you?'

'Levin... just Levin. What line of business I'm in is actually not your concern. I need Sam gone, or I will call the police and have him removed. I know his fear of being locked away. I know what will happen if I do that, and I thought you, as a friend, might be able to think of another way to get him out of my apartment.'

'I've a feeling that you would not want the police poking around your apartment. Maybe you _should_ call them.'

Now Spencer saw an expression he'd not seen before. A bit of alarm. A bit of loathing... a bit of despair. It looked good on him. Made him look less... less like a mannequin and more human. 'I thought he was your friend.'

'You thought wrong. I thought you two were lovers.'

'Once maybe... not now. And you're right, I don't want the cops in my place. They're the very last people I want there... you would rather I threw him out onto the streets? He'd last five minutes at the most. I'm trying to help him! I cannot do it alone.'

Which was why Spencer got dressed for an evening out at Levin's place. He didn't want to go and there was no nagging voice telling him he had to go... but still there he was slipping in to the passenger seat of Levin's fancy sports car – it was green – Spencer had no idea what make it was. It was sleek and beautiful though. He could see why Sam was so taken by this young man with the blond hair... who obviously had a load of money – not from whoring? Then from drugs. Spencer could think of no other way he could afford this. Not and be a friend of Sam's. Sam didn't make friends or sleep with someone unless they were filth.

They pulled up in a underground, private parking bay. A security gate had rumbled down behind them and the man in the booth and given Levin a small wave. So far nothing seemed wrong or out of place. The building above them was twenty storeys – Spencer had quickly calculated that much. The bottom floor was shops. A bookmakers, a picture framers, a small antique shop and a flower shop. There were others, but Spencer had only taken a quick glance to see the sort of area they were in. It seemed nice, quiet... tidy... The parking bays didn't smell of urine and vomit. The elevator door whooshed open when Levin put in a code. They stepped in, and another code was entered before they were rushed upwards.

'Top floor.' Levin stood with his hands at his sides... his face blank. His eyes only half open. He looked as though he was smashed. But the young man had said he didn't do drugs. However, in Spencer's experience, most men were liars. They flew up, not stopping at any other floors. 'Private elevator.' Levin pointed out when it looked as though Spencer was going to say something about the lack of floor numbers... 'It stops only on my floor.'

'Handy if you can afford such luxury.' Spencer said.

'Which I obviously can.'

There was a ding and a panel lit up on two walls. Two doors out of here. Levin pressed in what seemed to be yet another string of numbers and one of the doors hissed open. Spencer waited for Levin before walking out into a square room with doors running off the side.

'My pad.' Levin sighed. 'Now get Sam out.'

'I'm here to talk to him...' Spencer spoke softly as he looked around with curiosity. The walls were painted white. The floor was light wood... there was light coming from concealed places in the corners of the room.

'The lobby.' Levin gestured around. 'Through that door... first on the left... only one on the left. Sort him out and get him out.'

The passage beyond the door was long, white and bereft of any decoration. Again there was light shining down onto the light oak flooring... the doors on the right were flush with the walls and seemed to slide rather than push or pull... He could see light up ahead where the white and sterile looking passage opened up into something... Spencer couldn't see what. There was though, a muffles cry coming from behind one of the doors. Spencer stood there for a while, not opening it. He then turned to look at Levin who had followed him.

'I need you to answer some questions first.'

'What you need is not my business. Ask... I may or may not answer.'

'What do you do? What is your line of work? Why are you called The Seraphim and why, if you're not a whore do you frequent Juniper.'

'Ah... Well some of that I will answer and some not. I am not a whore. I pay to be serviced. That makes them the whore and me the client. It's fun, not business. I am entrepreneurial. I have a few lines of business. All of them pay well. I'm good with numbers. I'm good with... artistic interpretation of leisure. I take photos... make small films... display them in a way the client desires. But that again is more fun than business. My main money comes from gambling. Now... please sort out Sam. I've told you all I'm going to.'

Spencer rubbed at his eyes with his fingertips and then turned with his back to the door. 'And if I refuse?'

'I'm done being polite. If that's what you wanted to hear.'

'Levin, I can't take him back to my own place. All I can do is remove him with force and let him go on his way.'

'No! Spencer, I told you. He'll kill himself. I cannot help him. You must do it. He seems to think he's dying.'

With a deep breath, Spencer turned again to the door and slid it open. The room behind was maybe four times the size of Spencer's lounge. There was an iron framed bed set centrally and two doors on the side wall. There was nothing else in here apart from Sam... the floor, the walls and ceiling. The bedding was deep red and Sam was laying there in a puddle of piss crying for someone to help him. He wearing a pair of jeans and a Tshirt. Nothing much else. His hair was stuck to the snot and tears...

'He's pissed the bed again. I'm going to start to call him Mr Pissy Pants. Get him up and out. Please. I have to clean up this stink and the blood in kitchen, get laundry done and prepare things for tomorrow. I really don't have time for this crap.' Still though Levin's face hardly changed expression and had Spencer not seen a glimpse of something back at his own place then he might have started to wonder if Levin was pumped full of botox. Strange as the room was, Spencer went to the bed and sat down next to Sam. He didn't speak to him, but touched him gently on the back of the head.

'I had the most dreadful nightmare.' Sam sobbed. 'Spencer, it was so horrific that I don't ever want to sleep again. I just want to die.'

'You can't die here. Levin won't allow it. I'll get him to unlock you, then you will go and have a shower and clean yourself up. Then we will get a cab somewhere quiet and have a coffee and a chat. You're not coming back to my place, Sam. I'm done with your histrionics and games. I'll listen to you because we sort of have a bond – whether we like that or not. You're sort of that really annoying kid brother.'

There was a click as Levin removed the cuffs. 'He can use that room.' He pointed to one of the doors leading out of the bedroom. 'Try not to make a mess and stay with him.' He then spoke to Sam. 'I'm going to have to wash the bedding and towels. Give me your jeans and I'll give them a quick wash and dry too. Hurry. I have work to do, Sam.'

So Sam slowly stripped off and though Spencer felt it would have been kind to have helped, he didn't. He did have a good look at Sam's almost emaciated form though. As Sam removed his Tshirt, Spencer could see every rib, the way his stomach was sunken... the way his hips jutted out... self conscious of his own skinniness Spencer put his hands in his pockets and felt his own hip bones curving outwards. This is what Floyd liked. He liked his men, boys... so thin that they couldn't defend themselves properly... But Floyd was gone. There was no need to keep this up now.

'What's going on?' Spencer finally asked Sam who was just about to get under the shower.

'The nightmares. It's like... like... like I'm in hell, Spencer. Being pulled down and down... Then suddenly I can feel that I'm in a metal room... and it's full of straw and it's on fire, falling on me... and I'm hammering my fists on the door and screaming, but I'm breathing in fire... my eyes are melting, by hair's alight... the skin on my hands is sloughing off like over cooked pork... I can smell my own flesh cooking. And then it suddenly stops... and I'm standing in a circular room and I'm looking at the other side of the door and then I'm falling back into the room again... and it's over and over and over again... when I wake I can smell the burning. I can feel sticky crap on my face. My hands hurt like a barbed wire fuck... and Spencer, it's a message. Floyd isn't coming back. I'm going back to hell and I'm in trouble for assisting an angel... even though that angel is Floyd so I'm begging you Spencer. Kill me. Just do it. Take my head and take my... take my... heart and keep them safe.'

'Have a shower, please, Sam.'

Insanity. His mind had gone completely. Spencer sat on a small stool and watched Sam wash. Was it his place to stop Sam doing what he needed to do? Maybe he should allow him to do what he needed to do, but Spencer was not going to cut heads off or rip out hearts. Sam was going to have to find someone else to do his dirty work for him. When Sam got out of the shower and was drying himself, Spencer asked him something else. 'How does Levin make his money?'

'Fantasy snuff pornography. It's not real... Well it's real porn and real photography, but the snuff bit is fantasy. It's really clever. He makes these little movies and then people can watch them in Levin's home cinema place... and he'll even let you have some fun with him as you watch. He's done a few of me... not the snuff stuff, but just general porn... you know? Him and me fucking... he's filmed it then we eat popcorn and watch it... It's fun. He plays poker too. He counts cards. Wicked with numbers. And he plays the stock market with shocking results. I've known him get a few million with just a yes or a no... or a sell... on the phone. He's amazing Spencer.'

'Amazing.' Spencer threw a bath robe at Sam. 'Was it Levin who took those photos we found in your bag?'

'You didn't find them as such as I wasn't actually hiding them, but no. Levin's stuff is honestly lovely to look at. Artistic... wonderful. If it wasn't illegal it'd be in art galleries. He pays models sometimes too. People off the street who need some extra cash. He will clean them up and feed them... and dress them in kinky shit and put a few of them together and... yeah...'

'Children?'

Sam shrugged. 'Not that I know of. He's a nice bloke Spencer. A bit weird, but he's not a bad person. Just horribly rich... millions and fucking millions of dollars... He'll be one of these people who die young. A shame, but good guys never live to be old good guys, do they?'

'You're still alive and you're positively ancient.' Spencer replied. 'I think you need to get out of this place and pull yourself together. Do not come to my apartment. I have no doubts that it's being watched, on and off... they're still looking for you. So you need to find somewhere to live and get a job of a kind... or maybe I'll just forward you some subs for a while until you're sorted. How does that sound?'

'Fucking lonely.' Sam whined. 'You know we should still get that cabin in the woods.'

'No.'

'For when Floyd comes back.'

'He's not coming back Sam. He's dead. We both saw that. We both know.' Spencer wanted to hold him. Pull him close and give him comfort, but it was never that simple with Sam. Sam always wanted to go a step... or a dozen steps further. 'Don't come back to Levin's place again. It's not the right environment for you. I'll help you. I'll be there for you at the end of the phone if you need someone to talk to, but you can't come to my place. Do you understand me? There's a letting agent I know... bedsits... easy to come by. I'll find you somewhere. Today... somewhere safe. A bed to sleep in. A door you can lock. And I'll go through jobs with you and try to find something to keep your mind busy.'

'I would love to belong to the Space Program. I'd love to belong to NASA. I would love to be one of those people listening to the stars.' Sam sighed.

'I was thinking more like... maybe in a coffee shop, or a burger place.'

'Right.' Sam pulled the bath robe around himself. 'You don't realise how awesome my brain is, do you?' Sam put the lid down on the toilet and sat. 'You can't see beyond the Sam who wants his dick sucked... the Sam who likes to take drugs... but you're as bad as me. Everything... all of it. You just can't see it. You just think you're everything and I'm shit. You hate me. And I want to be loved and if Levin will love me...'

'Levin wants you gone. Levin doesn't want you to return. He doesn't want you here.'

'But... but he said he loved me.'

'I'm sure I might have said that in the past... I'm sure a lot of people have said that to you. You can be really sweet, kind... nice... funny... and you can also be a bitch – excuse my language – and you can be trouble and you are possessive and violent, self indulgent, self centred, self absorbed, immature and foul mouthed. People might love you, Sam. But it'll never last, because you are what you are. Unlovable.' He'd said too much. And he knew that here in this sterile bathroom with water dripping from the shower and the juddering breaths taken by Sam... he knew that he'd said far more than he'd meant to. Spencer wrapped his arms around his chest and stared over Sam's shoulder. Looking at Sam in the eyes right now was a step too far.

'Unlovable?' Sam choked out. 'I should be dead... if no one wants me, then I'll just go make that so, shall I? Why are you so fucking bothered about finding me a fucking wank of a cunting job and a place to sleep if that's all there fucking is!' Sam leapt to his feet. 'We did everything right. Everything... and I'm still here! And you're here! So where the fuck is Floyd?!'

Spencer was on his feet too. 'He's in London. Under the ground... rotting in a cemetery. You know full well where he is!' Shouting now... Spencer had raised his voice and it echoed back like a song being sung when you think you're alone... saying what you feel... because you don't realise that someone is there listening to every word. 'I thought you had a plan! But it was madness... all of it is complete madness! I don't know how you do what you do. I don't have a clue how you got to England. I don't know how you got out of the police station. And I don't know how Floyd's bones ended up where they were, if they were his, but I've had it with you Sam. Nothing is enough. I offer to keep you safe. I make you that offer and you tell me you'd rather be dead? Well go then. GO!'

Spencer left the bathroom to find Levin standing there, unblinking, staring at him. 'Well that was helpful.' He whispered.

'You... you...'

'Me.' Levin agreed. 'There is a lot about me – some of which I'm sure Sam has told you about. I'll know if someone I don't like comes knocking at my door. I'll know.' Levin clicked the fingers on both hands. 'Like that.' He then blew on them as though puffing out a flame...

'If that was meant to be a threat... Levin, you don't scare me.'

'Yet. Not until the wrong person knocks on my door asking the wrong questions. Then you'll be scared. That is a guarantee... ex agent.'

'I'll...' Spencer started...

'You will do nothing. I thought I could trust you.' Levin shook his head slightly. 'But you're like every one else. Get the hell out... it was a mistake thinking you'd be able to help. I'll deal with Sam in my own way. He doesn't need shit like you clinging to him. You could have at least have pretended to like him.' The elevator door whooshed open. 'Please leave. No wonder Sam is so screwed up if it's people like you who he relies upon for assistance. Get out.'

Spencer spent the following week in his apartment with the curtains closed and the lights off. He needed to clear up the mess he'd made when he'd returned home. The broken glass... the up turned coffee table... the smashed mirrors... Every mirror in the apartment had been shattered to as many shards he could manage. He then sat curled up on his chair with a mug of cold coffee in his hands wondering when he became such a vile person. When had he turned from the guy people thought of as innocent and quirky to this monster who cared about no one and nothing. He had no job – not that he needed one, but that's not the point! He had no friends – again, did he need people getting in the way and telling him what to do? That's all friends seem to do. They're bullies with smiles on their faces. "Come out with us for a drink! You'll have fun!" No... never... He didn't need to be told what to do, when to wash, what to eat. He didn't need to be told that he was looking ill or that his diet was bad for him. He'd stopped smoking, that at least they couldn't nag him about... if he had anyone left to nag him. Which he didn't. Of course there was his mother... maybe a visit to Vegas and maybe a talk with his mother would break him out of this misery he was feeling.

A collection of rare Manga graphic novels were delivered to his door. He'd not ordered them. He asked who had sent them and they showed him a docket with the return address. Not one he knew. He'd investigate that further when he got back. He didn't want to suddenly get a bill for something. He decided that a week would be more than enough to see his mother. She was always off with the fairies and there was no guarantee that she'd even recognise him, but he went anyway... and was told he had grown – which he hadn't, that he looked ill, which he did. Spencer kissed his mother on the cheek and returned home the following day. He didn't get what he needed in Vegas. The place had lost something... or had it gained something? He was very unsure. What he did know was that the City now made him feel sad. It reminded him of what he'd lost. What he'd never get back. It made him think of his childhood, of sneaking out when mother was not looking and spending time with Floyd. It reminded him of the smell of hot leather – man sweat – that feeling that he'd be safe forever because at his side was his guardian angel.

He cried on the flight home. A cabin crew member asked him if he was all right. Of course he was. Absolutely wonderful. Why would they think otherwise?

The elevator was out of order when he returned home, but he took the stairs with a bit of relief. It got rid of some of the pent up energy he could feel flowing through himself. It felt as though something very exciting was about to happen. Very much like the night before christmas when he was a kid. A bit like those days when he had to wait and wait for an eternity to be allowed to go out trick or treating. Like those days he knew Floyd was going to be waiting at the school gates. A sort of innocent excitement... And that needed to be tempered down and destroyed before he got back to his apartment.

'Mind how you go!' Someone called out as he pushed through the doors at the top of the stairs to be faced with a dull light. Not the light there should be in the corridor up here. 'Lights blew. We're fixing them.' The voice came from a man up a ladder half way down. Storms sometimes did that. A sudden surge of power could blow them – but had there been a storm? Well he'd been in Vegas, he didn't know, but he'd not heard that there had been. So he walked down the corridor to the door at the end where his apartment was. He slipped the key in the lock, opened the door and turned the alarm off. Lights in his apartment were working. Actually they were on... he was sure he'd turned them off when he had left. Spencer dropped his bag to the floor and turned a small circle where he stood. Someone had been here. Why couldn't they just leave him alone? Why did people have to constantly interfere in his life? Didn't they know how unsettling it was to think of someone poking around in your home when you were away? It riled him to the point of kicking his bag. The place had been tidied up. There was no scrunching of glass under his feet as he walked to the lounge. The coffee table had been righted. The cushions placed where they should be. His books neatly back on the shelves... coasters lined up on the small table... Spencer touched one of then with the tip of a finger, then turned and ran to the bathroom. Spotless. Immaculate. The white towels folded. The floor clear of mess. The shower screen wiped down of water marks... bleach in the toilet... and the stink of cleaning fluids almost bad enough to make Spencer's eyes water. The mirrors had been replaced... blood marks on the floors everywhere had gone. Kitchen... he rushed to the kitchen... A mug sat alone in the dishwasher – clean – he'd not left it there. He'd not bothered to wash a mug up for weeks. 'What the hell?' Spencer felt bile rising in his throat. 'Please... please don't let this be what I think it is.' With legs which didn't want to move he walked back out into the corridor which was slowly becoming brighter lit and now Spencer stood looking at the wood of his door... Deep scratches covered it... oh there'd always been marks, scratches, dents... even blood... on that door, but he'd had it repaired. He'd had all traces of Floyd's oddness removed. Just seeing those marks on his door whenever he came home made him feel ill... and there they were, back again. Deep and fresh going from just below head height down to waist level. Exactly as it had been before, but this was new. 'Oh god no.' Spencer ran his fingers over the marks. 'You are dead.'

He hurled himself back into the apartment and now trying to fight back tears – which for now he was putting down to anger – he did a quick search. In the bottom of his closet had always been a bag of clothing. Floyd's clothing. Things he couldn't part with. Things he occasionally buried his face in to try to capture that smell... and there it was, unmoved... untouched. He pulled open the top of the bag and took in a long deep breath... but they'd been in there a while now. The smell was fading... and this again brought on the risk of angry tears.

'Sam.' He spat the words out. Sam and his nasty games. When would the boy leave him alone? When would he get the message that he was not going to play along? 'But the scratches in the door?' Spencer asked himself. 'Sam could have done that... The lights blown? Sam's tricks.' Spencer had made the decision. It was Sam. The following day he'd get all the locks changed and inform the super that the pass for the downstairs _secure_ doors needed to be changed. That would keep him away... keep those dark eyes from him... stop that skinny body walking through his apartment as though it was his! That would sort that problem.

Chess. He spent a week playing chess and drinking coffee in the small book and coffee shop on the corner. And it was in there at the end of that week that the chess partner was a blond man with a long leather coat and a face with no expression. Spencer got up to leave. This was another person he wanted no contact with. Had no reason to have contact with and really didn't want to be seen with or associated with him.

'You think I want to be here?' He snapped at Spencer. 'I have little choice in the matter.' He moved a bishop and sat with his elbows on the table. Spencer thought he looked nervous, but there didn't appear to be any bruises showing.

'Then just leave.' Spencer sat back down again and moved a rook. 'I don't want to be seen talking to you.'

'Oh that's nice. What have I ever done to hurt you, other than request you don't tell your buddies my business.' He slapped an envelope onto the table. 'Open it. Read it.' Then if there's a message I'll deliver it.'

Spencer looked at the white envelope as though it might explode. He prodded it, frowned deeply and picked up a plastic coffee stirrer and flipped it over. Nothing happened. He noticed though that Levin had a pair of very tight black gloves on. Protection?

'You open it.' Spencer slid it over to Levin with the bit of plastic.

'If you insist. I'm not going to sit here reading it to you though. I've been told you read fast. It will take you but a minute to read the contents.'

'Is this to do with Sam?'

'The whole world is to do with Sam, if you ask Sam. When he stops existing so will the universe if you take what he says as truth, which I don't.' He tore open the top of the white envelope pulled out a bit of printed paper, unfolded it and placed it on the table so Spencer could read it without having to touch it.

'You still have contact with Sam?'

Levin's face twitched. A small expression of something, but Spencer couldn't tell what. 'Yes. He's like chocolate.' And then an actual smile. Just a flash and then gone again.

'Chocolate?'

'Sweet, melts in your mouth... too much makes you sick... much to much makes you vomit. Yes... chocolate. Something you occasionally crave... but one nibble and you're hooked for life. It's worse than heroin. I want him out of my life, but cannot imagine what that would be like with him gone. I thought – that day when I called you to get rid of him – I heard what you said, that he was unlovable. I needed to test that for myself.' He paused. 'You're wrong. You just have to treat him properly.'

'Like a princess.'

'A chocolate princess.'

The man had lost it. Whatever marbles he'd had to start with, Sam had eroded. 'Well you can tell Sam not to visit my apartment again. I'm not happy that he is playing his silly game.' He snatched up the bit of paper and began to read. It was a print out of a web page. There had been an explosion in a London cemetery. A mausoleum had been blown apart. A teenaged girl had been killed by flying debris and a man was in a critical condition which chest injuries. There were a few others hurt but not hospitalised. Spencer blinked at the words and read them again. 'Highgate.' He moaned. Looked at the date which was a few weeks ago and stood up. 'Well is that all? Tell Sam... Tell him to stay away from me. Tell him that if this carries on I'll let them know where he's hiding out. And you will tell him that and you will ensure that happens because I don't think you want the FEDs raiding your apartment.' Levin said nothing. He just gave Spencer a small nod and he flounced out of the shop. Spencer watched him cross the street. Strange man... almost as though he was floating, his steps were so light. So Sam had his claws into Levin. Not Spencer's problem. It would only become a problem if Sam kept on playing this stupid games. Spencer scrunched the paper up in his hand and stuffed it into his pocket and left the coffee shop, following Levin across the road and down the street to a small shop selling fancy pens, fountain pens mostly... expensive and jewelled and encrusted with gemstones. Levin had stopped and was looking in the window when Spencer walked up beside him and looked at the shop display.

'Tell Sam to stay out of my apartment.' Spencer told him.

'He's not a dog to command. Who the hell do you think you are Spencer Reid? You do not own Sam. He's not yours. He's not mine. He is a free spirit... If you want to tell him something then tell him, but don't expect me to be your delivery boy.'

'Yet you will be his?' Spencer asked... that seemed reasonable to Spencer.

'I love him. That is the difference. I wouldn't care any less than I care about you now if you stepped in front a train. You are nothing to me but an annoyance. I heard what you said to him. I came to you for help and you did that? You do not carry your little badge any more. It's not your place to order people around. Sam wanted to die. I was that concerned about his behaviour that I asked for your help. What did you do? You told him he was unlovable.' Levin turned to face Spencer. 'Go back to the hole you crawled from, you nasty little man.'

'Me? Me nasty? You're the one who makes a living in pornography.'

'No I don't. I make a living from the stock market, gambling and financial advice.'

'And prostitution.' Spencer added.

'You are a _vile_ creature.' Levin told him. 'I do not prostitute myself. Why would I have to? I don't know what Sam told you about my photography, but it's also not pornographic; it's classed as adult art photography. I suggest you go and look at how you think. Look...' Levin tapped this gloved finger tips on the glass of the shop window. 'Look at your reflection and tell me you see someone with a life worth talking about. You're nothing Spencer Reid. So get out of my face and out of my business. Is that understood? I only came here to deliver that message because I actually adore Sam to the very bottom of my heart. Don't piss on me because you can't find somewhere more useful to put your dick. Now if you'll excuse me. I have a pen to purchase.' Levin swept away in a flounce of black and grey leather. And for a while Spencer stood staring at his reflection... at the man standing looking back at him, in his un-ironed shirt, with his buttons not done up right on his brown cardigan, at his cords, slightly worn on the knees... And suddenly and desperately, Spencer needed a cigarette and a long drink of whiskey – or red wine...

Sam might have found peace – but Spencer spent the following week drunk, sleeping or drinking coffee. He slept on the couch most of the time, but finally dragged himself to bed, closed his eyes and had a dream not full of fire and pain, as Sam had done... and not dreamless either. Spencer dreamed that someone came to him, lay on the bed next to him and rested his head on Spencer's stomach. Spencer reached down and wound his fingers through long hair. He ran fingers over the side of the face. He tried to open his eyes and look, but couldn't. His dream wouldn't allow that. He wanted to get a better idea of the face he was touching, but the person moved away... right away and Spencer woke up with a jerk and a sob.

He took a deep breath – and there was a smell... a rich smell of musk and dirt... of man.

Floyd.

But it was just a dream. What he was sensing now was the remnants of it. What his dream was telling him was that if he wanted to feel loved again, he'd not find that locking himself away with a bottle. He'd also no find it on the streets... down Juniper Lane – or any other such place. He'd not find what he wanted or needed in Vegas.

A bar.

He'd shave, find some clothes which looked less like an eighty year old man would be wearing and he'd go on the pull!

Sure... like he'd do a thing like that...

But going out for a drink would do no harm. He knew of some good bars... ones Floyd would take him to. He would go and have a drink and toast Floyd and that would be closure. The final thing. That would be the final chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

Visitor

A night out. It shouldn't have been anything too exciting. He'd not spoken to anyone. No one had said much to him either. He'd made an effort. At least he'd showered, shaved... where necessary, and he'd pulled on some black jeans and a dark red shirt. He'll rolled the sleeves up and the night was warm... so no jacket was necessary. He had nothing planned, but to get the tube downtown and have a drink in the company of other men. And that was certainly as far as he had intended anything to go. And in that respect he wasn't disappointed. The trouble was that people only ever saw Spencer here with Floyd – and Floyd was someone they avoided unless he was handing over money... and that was not something to be recommended. Talking to Spencer alone... even without Floyd standing there guarding him as though he was some precious jewel, even without those dark eyes daring anyone who looked his way to look again... look again and go home with some internal injuries. Spencer was ignored. A fool asked him the time... a less foolish person whispered in the fool's ear – alarm shot over the fool's face and he left – quickly – looking over his shoulder, expecting pain.

So it was a quiet drink and a decision never to go back there again. Even in death Floyd tainted him and wouldn't allow him to move forwards.

Spencer wondered if he was _getting over_ Floyd's death too quickly. He wondered if he should be wearing a black arm band... be going to church to pray for his soul... to... well to spend his nights sobbing into tissues. But that didn't seem to be happening. It felt oddly as though Spencer knew Floyd was coming home again. Floyd often wandered off for a year... or a few months. Then he'd come home and expect nothing to have changed. That's more how Spencer felt, even though he also knew that it wasn't going to happen. He seemed to have just closed down that part of his thoughts. Floyd was dead. Sam was gone. That was the end... Time to... not forget, never forget... no... forgetting was something Spencer would rather die than do, but adjust to... He could do that. Spencer could adjust.

He caught a late train home. Not drunk. Not even close, but he was tired and distracted by thoughts of Floyd and how nice it would have been to have had Floyd there with him. Holding hands. Touching lips... here on the train rumbling under the city. It would have been good. The thoughts distracted, though it likely would have made no difference. He didn't notice the six brutes getting on the train. He didn't hear them calling out... laughing... cat calling... When Spencer finally took note and looked up they were already on him. Spitting in his face, pulling him from the seat and kicking him to the ground. They wanted his money. They could have it. He had more. They wanted his phone... let them have that too. He could replace it. They wanted to knock his teeth out... and that was when he finally started to kick back, slap out... punch back, tear at hair... He could feel something sharp and cold... then something too hot... and wet and running down his neck... burning! Spencer didn't know if he screamed. But someone did. One person was howling and gurgling and splattering up the windows... another...

'Fuck no!' A scream... running feet. Spencer curled up into a ball with his arms wrapped around his head, his phone smashed on the train's floor, his wallet open but laying next to him. A ripping howling sound... a monstrous noise. Something was dripping on Spencer's arms. Something warm and gloopy. He knew now that he was making small keening sounds. He knew that people were dying around him. He could smell it. That horrific smell of shit and blood and urine and torn bodies. They never mention in the movies how people shit themselves when they die. They don't talk about the way the bladder lets go. They don't talk about that smell. A smell you'd only ever know if you'd stood over a ripped up corpse... or worse... a ripped up breathing being.

The noise had stopped at some point.

The tube train had also stopped. Started... stopped again... juddering.

More running feet. More screaming... the sound of someone throwing up. Crying... And Spencer just lay there amongst it all hoping that he'd wake up soon. He was scooped up by someone, laid down and rushed away. He could see the ceiling of the train on the inside... how red it was! He couldn't remember what colour it had been when he got on the train, but he was sure it hadn't been dripping red. He would have noticed that. Even through his distraction he would have.

'Can you tell us your name?' He was being asked... no... no he didn't feel like doing that. 'Can you tell me the date?' Why... why was that so important. No... actually he didn't even know what day of the week it was!

'Wednesday.' He heard himself mutter, but that wasn't the answer they wanted.

Something about insurance... waving his wallet at him 'Is this yours.' He needed to snatch that away from them. He had secrets hidden in there... maybe... no... maybe not. Let them look. He had nothing to hide. It was made of pig skin dyed black... a brass coloured popper to hold it shut.

'Dr Reid?'

'Yes.' He sighed back. Now his name would flare up on some tracking gizmo Garcia had going and a Flock of Feds would arrive at his bedside.

'Can you remember what happened?'

He couldn't. He had no idea what happened. 'No.' He muttered and then closed his eyes. He wanted to sleep. 'My ribs hurt.' He told them. 'Please don't call anyone.' Grabbing a medic. 'I'd rather no one knows. Is my neck bleeding?'

Then some sleep. Thank the gods for sleep. Sleep stops them from asking questions. Damned questions... and he had no answers for them.

Faint noises somewhere in the background. He could smell that this was a hospital. They all had the same smell and Spencer had been in enough of them to know those smells, sounds... the very air he was breathing – all hospitals were the same. No point in opening his eyes. He didn't want to risk seeing the blood red ceiling again. He wanted to go back to sleep and wake up in his own bed. He felt his breaths shudder through him. No breathing tube... a very small mercy. His neck hurt. It felt as though every rib had been smashed, though he knew they hadn't been. He wiggled his fingers, wiggled his toes, licked his lips, but kept his eyes closed.

'You're awake.' It wasn't a question. And Spencer knew that whispered voice. What the hell was Levin doing here? Slowly Spencer turned his head in the direction of the voice and opened one eye a fraction, just to make sure he hadn't been hearing things. 'Good. I'll go now.' Levin, wearing another long leather coat. He looked as sick as Spencer was feeling.

'Wh – wh – what are y – y – you doing here?'

'Don't for one minute think I _want_ to be here.' Levin rubbed at his eyes. 'It was me or Sam and Sam won't leave the apartment. He's terrified of something.' Levin gave a shrug. Spencer wondered how he could sit there draped in leather in the heat of the hospital. 'There's someone outside who wants to talk to you. I got here first though.'

'H – how?'

'How did I know to come? You don't want to know the answer to that.' Again Levin rubbed at his eyes. They looked as though he'd been crying, but Spencer thought it was more likely lack of sleep or too much Sam. Levin had been correct on that assumption; too much Sam makes you sick. He drains you of every emotion and then demands more. Sucks you dry. 'I'm going back home. I don't like leaving Sam on his own.' He then leaned forward slightly and touched Spencer on the arm. Again Spencer noted that Levin was wearing tight leather gloves, he also noted that Levin's hands were shaking slightly. Not much, but enough to let Spencer think that a lot more was going on with this man that he'd been letting on.

'What' g – g – going on?' Spencer managed to spit the words out, but a tightening on his brain and what felt like a major headache coming on made it harder than he'd like.

'I'd ask you the same thing. Tell whoever has the sense of humour to back off. I don't appreciate getting body parts sent to me in the mail. I'll not be threatened in that way.' Levin stood, and for a moment didn't move. It looked as though he was pulling in all the strength he had just to move... or to stop shaking. 'Goodbye.' And with a hand resting on the back of the chair, Levin stood straight, and left the room in his usual flourish of leather and blond hair.

Spencer closed his eyes again and put his face to the ceiling. For only a moment he allowed his thoughts to drift to that train. A scream... the dripping on his arms... the pain in his neck. He raised a hand and felt a dressing just a bit smaller than his hand on the right side of his neck. He'd been cut. He could remember the feeling of the cold blade pressing there, then the burning as the skin was cut. It couldn't have been too bad though. He was still alive and there didn't seem to be the sounds of bleeping machines in the room and there were no cannula in the back of his hand or in his arm. He was alive, and just a bit battered from... from something... he sighed a deep sigh as someone else entered the room. Spencer heard the footsteps and the way the plastic covered chair wheezed when someone sat in it. It wasn't Rossi. Rossi always brought with him the smell of aftershave. It was a man, judging by the footsteps. He didn't think it was Morgan... he'd not called him _kiddo_ yet. And that left just one other person it could be. A sad life when the only people who come to see you are Federal Agents and Levin. He wanted to laugh at that, but he didn't. He turned his head again and looked at Hotch sitting in the chair with a slight worry on his stony face.

'We need to talk.' Hotch said.

'Do I, do I... do I have to?' Spencer's brain seemed to tighten all the more, making his eyes water, almost as though it was squeezing fluid from his brain.

'Six men died in that carriage. At least that's the best guess so far. Six heads were found. There's not enough left of the rest of them to tell. Security footage shows little or nothing. Garcia is working on it, but I think you know where this is going.'

Spencer shook his head. At least _his_ was still attached. 'Six heads?'

'Torn off. No neat cuts. What did you see?'

Now he bit down on his bottom lip and attempted to think back. What exactly _had_ he seen? 'Six men in baggy jeans and hooded tops... hoods up... maybe some gold teeth... spotty skin, one of them seemed to have a boil on his face.' Spencer's fingers drifted to his chin. 'They wanted my money. It was just a general mugging.'

Hotch leaned forwards with his elbows on his knees. 'You know that's not what I'm talking about. What did you see?'

'Nothing.' And this was going in exactly the direction Spencer knew it would. They were going to try to pin this on Floyd... and Floyd was very dead. 'It wasn't... it was... not Floyd.' He closed his eyes and rubbed at his head. 'Headache.' He muttered and turned his face away from Hotch. How dare he come here accusing a dead man of what ever horror happened on the train. Even in death Floyd would be forever accused of every nasty act on the planet. Why couldn't they let it go. Why couldn't they leave him alone.

'There's a guard on the door, but if this is what it looks like, I don't think that's going to be enough. I want you in protective custody. As soon as the doctor has seen you, we're leaving.'

'I've done nothing wrong.' Spencer said as tears ran down his face – maybe frustration but probably the pain in his head. 'I saw – I saw nothing... I don't need protection. I don't – I don't w – w – w – want it. Leave me alone.'

'What was Lopez doing here?' Hotch then asked in a cold, yet curious voice.

'Lopez?' Spencer turned back to face Hotch. 'I don't know anyone b – b - by that name. I need something for this headache.'

'Mr Levin Lopez. You keep strange friends, Spencer. You know that we're here for you, yet you seem to go out of your way to keep company with people like that.'

It was wrong. Spencer knew it was wrong, but he wasn't going to lay here with a dressing stuck to his neck, his ribs strapped up and his head pounding and be told who he can or cannot have as a friend. Not that Levin was a friend, but if Hotch presumed otherwise, let him. 'It's none of your business.'

'No, no – you're right, it isn't.' There was a pause as Hotch sat back again in the chair. 'He was investigated for fraud.' Hotch now let him know.

'Please, get me a nurse and leave.' Spencer replied. Levin had been investigated for fraud? Yet he was living free – so obviously nothing stuck. Whether that was because he was innocent or because he covered his tracks well, Spencer didn't know. Didn't want to know. Wasn't even slightly interested, though he thought when he got home he'd look that name up and see if there was any trace of him. That was not interest though. No... he had no interest in Mr Levin Lopez at all. And he doubted that was his real name.

The police wanted a word with him now he was awake. What had he seen? What did he hear? Who else had been in the carriage? What could he tell them? And there was nothing. They'd said that the Crime Scene people had said that there was a blank space on the floor where he'd been curled up. They didn't think he'd done it... they just wanted to know what he'd seen... and really, nothing. He'd seen nothing. He could go. They'd be in contact. He needed someone to give him a lift back home though... and the only person still hanging around was Hotch. It was him or nothing, so Spencer let out a long sigh and agreed to allow Hotch to give him a lift home.

He travelled in hospital pyjamas. His own clothes were being kept for tests... it didn't matter. Spencer would be in Hotch's SUV most of the time. No one would see his slippered feet. Not that he much cared about that any more. He actually cared less about his own feet than he did about Levin... and what and who he really was. Spencer thought of bringing up the matter with Hotch. His headache was fading and he was feeling more able to juggle his thoughts around and not cause his ears to bleed. But if he asked Hotch, he'd only get more questions. Best to leave it. If Hotch mentioned it again then maybe... until then...

'So what sort of fraud was Levin involved in?' He asked anyway when they were sitting in a jam of traffic with the windows closed with Hotch tapping a hand on the steering wheel.

'You've not told me how you know him. How did he know to go to the hospital and how did he know before we did?'

One of those questions, Spencer wouldn't answer and the other he didn't know the answer to, so Spencer fiddled with a pen sitting on the dash and said nothing for a while. 'I don't know how he knew. And I've only met him half a dozen times. He's not actually a friend... we played chess once.' Which was almost true.

'We know it was Floyd... on the train.'

Spencer shook his head. 'I think if it was him he would have at least said hello to me. He didn't. I don't know who it was, but it wasn't Floyd. Floyd is dead. I've accepted that. Why won't you?'

'Because of incidents like the train. There is something going on in the city, Spencer, which I can't talk to you about, but it has all the hall marks of Floyd. If you know something, you should tell me.'

'I know nothing.' Spencer said with truth.

'If you do hear of something...'

'Which I won't. And if I do I will assume I've lost my mind and have myself locked away.' He turned slightly in his seat. 'I saw his body. I know he's dead.' He didn't mention the explosion at the mausoleum because for now he'd excluded that as one of Sam's games. He would check on it though. He would check on that, and he still had to check on where the gifts were being sent from... He had been getting lazy... blocking it all out was easier. 'He's dead.' Spencer muttered again as they pulled up in the underground parking lot at his apartment. 'I can manage from here.' Oh but maybe Hotch thought he was hiding something... perhaps it would be best to take him up for a coffee and prove there was nothing. Except for the door. Hotch would notice the damage to the door. Hotch would add too many things together and come up with the wrong answer. It must have been Sam who did that. It must have been Sam playing one of his stupid games... Except didn't Levin say Sam was too afraid to leave his apartment? Another lie. Another game.

Spencer got out of the car and thanked Hotch. He wished him well. He said goodbye and walked with the slippers slapping the ground – over to the elevator... pressed the correct code and was whisked away up to his floor. Away from Hotch and away from everything. He could now curl up in his own place and maybe take one of Floyd's shirts to bed with him... stroke the little buttons... press his face into the fabric... he might even let himself cry.

It had been Floyd on the train.

It couldn't have been anyone else.

But if it had been... why hadn't he shown himself?

Spencer checked the door of the apartment. It seemed to be the same as last time he looked, but couldn't be sure. The phone was ringing as he walked in, dropping the carrier bag with the few things he had been allowed to bring home with him. He looked at the phone and waited until voice mail activated and then picked it up.

'Dr Reid.' He said with as much authority he could muster. It was the police. They wanted to talk to him. They would come to him. They would be there within the hour. Nice of them to let him know. It gave him time to have a look at the dressing on his neck... he decided to leave it there for now, but he wound off the bandages around his ribs and then he had a quick shower, washed his hair and pulled on a Tshirt and a pair of jeans. He was just putting the coffee machine on when the buzzer for the door went. With a sigh, Spencer let the cops up to the apartment to have a chat with them about the horror of the night before... or was it the night before that? Actually he didn't know.

Three men in off the peg suits which had gone shiny on the bum and thread bare around the lapels. Ties not quite straight and shoes which had probably been polished on the back of their trouser legs as they waited for him to open the door. They didn't want coffee. What they wanted was to have a good nose at the surroundings. They wanted to see a man living in turmoil. They wanted to find some kind of evidence that he'd done something wrong. They were looking for Floyd... Spencer found he was twitching and wringing his fingers together, blinking to much and licking his lips.

They apologised for bothering him when they knew what a horrific time he'd had, but could he give them any information? Again he said of the one with the boil... the flash of gold teeth, the spots... the hooded tops and baggy jeans... and again that's not the question they were really asking. Spencer took a deep breath and again licked his lips. They were getting sore... he had to stop doing it.

'I curled up on the floor. They wanted to knock my teeth out. I'd been defending myself, but there were too many of them, so, because I've had training...'

'You were a FED.' He was told as though he'd forgotten.

'...It's better to hand over what you have. Less likely to be badly injured. I'm sure they didn't intend killing me... just giving me a fright... it worked... they would have done more than made a small nick on my neck if they wanted me dead... don't you agree? Well then I heard noises... wet noises... screaming... the beating stopped, but the screams didn't. I didn't look to see what was going on. I felt it safer to stay where I was and to remain still. I'm not sure how long it lasted. I don't know if I passed out. It's very hard to tell in situations like that.'

'Do you know who did it?'

'No.'

'Have you seen... seen this Flanders person recently?'

'He's dead. He was decapitated and is buried... he's dead. It wasn't him.'

How many times did he have to tell people that!

Early night.

He wanted to just snuggle under the covers and sleep forever. He wanted to close his eyes, whilst hugging one of Floyd's shirts and fall asleep smelling him... maybe have a nice dream about him. Something good... something wondrous. He thought of how Floyd's hands felt... how his mouth felt. The tickle of his hair. The digging of the belt buckle... the rubbing of buttons... the teeth... He fell asleep quickly with tears in his eyes and a faint smell of Floyd up his nose... and he had a dream.

Floyd stood inside the bedroom door looking at the pathetic form, sleeping... sobbing in his sleep. He needed to pull himself together. Floyd took hold of the bedclothes and pulled them off Spencer who was holding something in his hands, but wearing only a pair of cotton boxers. Floyd loathed them... of all the types of underwear available, those were the most hideous. For now it didn't matter. Spencer wouldn't be wearing them for much longer. Floyd watched his man moan and turn over in his sleep... the thing he had been holding slipped away and fell to the floor. Spencer was on his front now, which was the best and easiest. Floyd slipped off his coat, undid the buttons on his breeches and crawled up the bed, licking the back of Spencer's knees... running one hand between Spencer's legs and touching so very gently. Spencer moaned again but didn't move... That was good. Down with the disgusting boxers... and tongue and fingers began to play... slowly making his way up Spencer's back... one hand now sliding under Spencer... grasping a hip, pulling him towards himself. Another hand rested on the back of Spencer's head... shoving it hard into the deep pillow it had been laying there dreaming on.

Floyd took his time. He looked at Spencer's hands clutching the under-sheet on the bed. He looked at the way Spencer's shoulders tensed up. He could see the old scars he'd given him... Floyd licked them all, pulling off the dressing on Spencer's neck and licking with hunger at the small wound there. He gave Spencer every bit of himself... feeling the writhing and bucking and hearing the muffled 'no' and the distant 'harder' and then the 'oh my god' then Floyd clenched his fist and smacked Spencer on the back of the head. It actually made Floyd yelp with delight... nothing so good as that. Spencer was laying still now, so Floyd turned the head so he could breathe and pulled away, doing up his breeches, picking up his coat. He moved to the side of the bed, leaned down and kissed Spencer on the nose.

'I'll be back. Like it or not... I'll be back.'

Spencer opened his eyes. He thought for a moment that he'd stopped breathing, that he'd taken damage to his head during the train incident and was now truly dead. He lay there... one breath dragged in and then another. Each one jerking and sobbing. He'd wanted to dream about Floyd, but he knew that's not what had happened. He recognised those hands, that smell... the way he licked and touched and pulled and forced himself... He knew the feeling of having his back bitten, and other places too... yet in the past Floyd had at least finished him properly... had touched him where he really needed to be touched... Spencer rolled onto his back, and realised that his boxers were twisted just around his left ankle. The bedding was on the floor at the end of the bed. There was blood smeared over the sheet... and a smell. A rich earthy musky smell of Floyd. It was unmistakeable. Floyd had pushed his head into the pillow and taken him without so much as a 'hello'... Why? Why not just come home? Spencer sat for a moment then pulled the bedding back into place and lay for the rest of the night on his back... slowly bleeding onto the sheet... it was OK... Spencer knew how to get blood out of things.

'He'll be back.' Spencer whispered to himself... 'It worked. I'll have to... I should... I should let Sam know... but not now.'

Levin had been dreaming about walking in dark tunnels with the sound of drums in the distant. War drums... but his eyes flicked open because of something else waking him. At first he just lay there with an arm over Sam's back, in the dark, blinking at nothing. Then he noted that the lights from the small clock next to the bed had gone out. A power cut? He slipped out of the bed wearing his red silk pyjamas and with a hand out in front of him walked carefully to the light switch on the wall... _click, click, click_ … and nothing. No lights. 'Damnit.' He muttered, not wanting to awaken Sam. He silently as he could slipped out of the bedroom and down the hallway, a hand on the wall to guide him, to where the meter cupboard was in the entry way. He'd just gone around the corner when he sensed something or someone was there, but it wasn't enough time to call out or even turn and run. A hand slipped over his mouth and an arm hooked around his neck... then his feet left the floor as he was picked up and carried across the small entrance way to the elevator. Whoever it was pushed him against the wall and spoke into his ear, as his feet touched the ground again.

'If you make one sound I will kill you. If you try to get away from me I will kill you. If you do anything but nod your head I will kill you. Do you understand?' Levin nodded. The arm around his neck moved and a hand settled on the back of his head... fingers twisted in his hair and pushed his head hard onto the wall. 'One sound... and I'll break your neck.' Again Levin nodded. 'The elevator door is open.' The voice spat into his ear. 'If I don't like the response I get from you, I might just throw you down the shaft. Nod if you understand.' There was a small nod. 'Good – we have an understanding.' The hand moved from his mouth now and clutched hold of his shoulder. 'You will stop taking photos of Sam.' Levin was told. 'If I find that you have taken another I will come back for you and kill you slowly. Understand?'

'Yes.' Levin whispered.

It was a mistake. Hadn't he been told not to make a sound? Hadn't he been told that he would die if he did?

'Oh.' The voice said... hands moved again... this time they settled on Levin's neck... holding tightly and fingers pressing deeply. 'I told you not to talk. I told you to be quiet.' Levin let out a small whimper as he was dragged away from the wall and with his feet off the ground again he was suddenly being propelled forwards. His arms flailing... his hand caught the edge of the elevator door and he could feel the draught coming up from the empty shaft below him. 'You'll probably bounce off the sides, get hands broken as you attempt to grab hold of something to save you. You might even be dead before you hit the bottom... it's not a nice way to go. Twenty floors... you'd try to stop it wouldn't you? You'd reach out... Oh... it might even snap your legs as you spin, or maybe rip your fingers right out... very messy.' He was hauled back again and thrown to the floor. 'One more sound and you're dead. I'll let you have that because I know you don't know me and you don't realise that I don't make empty threats. You will stop taking photos of Sam.' Levin was kicked onto his back in the darkness and someone sat astride him. 'You will love Sam. You will be everything he wants. You will give him whatever he wants. You will protect him and you will guard him... if you don't I will consider you not worth the miserable skin you live in and you'll be dead. Do you understand me?' Levin nodded and sucked in some air. He'd been holding his breath, but for how long he didn't know. 'Good boy.' A hand patted him on the cheek. 'When I need something else from you, I'll contact you again; like this, or in your dreams. You are my dog. I expect you to behave.'

Levin felt whoever it was stand... and then there was absolute silence apart from his own shuddering breaths. What the hell had just happened? How had someone got inside his apartment! There were no windows! The place was locked up tighter than a bank vault. He could feel his hair tickling his face and moved slowly to wipe it away. He thought that something would touch him... was that man still there, in the dark? Watching him? Waiting for him to say something so he could kill him?

The lights flared on. Levin let out a surprised yelp and closed his eyes against the sudden glare. There was a _whoosh_ as the elevator doors closed and a slight rumbling as the air conditioning came back on again. Somewhere something was ticking, ticking, ticking... it seemed much too loud to be the clock in the lounge.

'Lev?' That was Sam calling him. 'Lev! What's going on?'

Love him and protect him... that's what he'd been told.

'Levin?' Sam was standing over him now. 'Are you all right?' Kneeling at his side and gentle little fingers touched his face.

'A bad dream. I think I was sleep walking.'

But Sam was frowning. 'What happened to your neck? That looks like finger marks?'

Levin swallowed. It hurt... yes something had grabbed him around the neck and dangled him over the elevator shaft. Something which would come back if he didn't do as he was told. 'Have I ever told you that I love you?' Levin asked. It seemed as good a place as any to start doing as he was told. He snatched at Sam's hand and kissed his fingers. This was going to wear thin pretty quickly. He did like Sam, but Levin knew that he bored easily and being told to do something was never as easy as doing it because he wanted to... and he _had_ been having disturbing dreams. 'It was just a bad dream. I thought I was choking... I must had bruised myself.'

Sam allowed the finger kissing to continue. It was nice... but why was Levin lying? 'Was someone here? Was someone in the apartment? Did someone...'

Levin stopped him there. 'How can someone get in? Don't be silly. And if someone did come in here I'd die protecting you.' There... surely that was enough for now. 'Bed?'

Sam shook his head. 'No. I think I'll go watch TV for a while.' Sam stood up and looked down at Levin laying there on his back with what looked to be a bruise coming up next to his mouth... little row of bruises... finger marks again. 'Watch TV with me? I don't like being in that huge room alone. It's creepy.'

He was going to say no... he was going to tell Sam to go back to bed... but when dreams start to become real... or even nightmares, then you fight back or fold. 'It was a nightmare.' Levin said, to reassure himself rather than to tell Sam. 'Yes, I'll watch TV with you.' He could already feel that he was folding.

They both fell asleep on the couch. Sam was laying curled up, pressed against Levin who had thought he'd never sleep again, but it happened anyway. It was the sound of the door buzzer which awoke them both. Levin walked slowly to the intercom and Sam followed, yawning and suggesting eggs and toast... Levin's finger hovered over the button but he didn't press it. Instead he turned to Sam and almost smiled. 'Eggs with toast would be lovely. I'll make them.' Levin's face hurt this morning.

'No. I will. You sort out whoever that is at the door.' Sam kissed Levin on the side of the face. He was looking for smells which shouldn't be there but could detect nothing. Argue and make the breakfast or let Sam do it? Sam seemed to want to, so Levin's face twitched again. 'OK, but don't forget to put on the coffee. I think I'll need it today.'

Still Levin didn't answer the buzzer though. He flicked the switch across to mute it and then walked to his small cramped office. A minute later he'd sent emails out to clients with appointments, cancelling everything. He then looked quickly through things he'd invested in, made two phone calls and made a couple of sales. He didn't want to have to think about what his money was doing in stocks and shares when he had to concentrate every second of his time on Sam.

They ate their breakfast, drank coffee, smoked... Levin cleaned up and then began to pull things out of the cupboard. He baked a cake. A huge chocolate cake. Sam sat and watched, cleaned out bowls, licked spoons... drank coffee and asked Levin why he was making a cake.

'Because you like chocolate cake.' Levin told him. 'And I want you to be happy.'

'And why wouldn't I be happy? I was happy without you making a cake. You could have sent out for one. Why go to all of that bother when you've got the money to just buy one?'

'Because you can't lick out the bowls of a shop purchased cake.' Levin wiped a bit of chocolate gloop off the corner of Sam's mouth and licked it off his finger. 'Now... whilst that's in the oven, a shower?'

Spencer woke up stuck to the sheets. He thought he'd had a terrible yet wondrous dream, but it seemed not. There was a lump on the back of his head and dried blood up his back, across his buttocks and down the back of his legs. Oddly it felt comforting. The stiffness on the skin felt right. He gave a small smile as he stripped the bed and then sat on the bunched up sheets and pressed the shirt, which was laying on the floor, to his face. He didn't know if he should be laughing or crying. Floyd was back. That much was certain. This meant that the incident on the train was Floyd, the unsavoury things Hotch had spoken about were Floyd. He wondered if he should contact Sam... had he paid him a visit too? Had Sam woken up bloody and satisfied... at least as satisfied as he was feeling. He pressed the shirt onto his lap and sighed. If things were this messy now; if Floyd was making his presence known to the authorities already, then things were going to snowball into a living hell pretty quickly.

A shower was needed. Bedding had to be washed. Ointment had to be applied to stop any further risk of bleeding. Food... no food today... he didn't think he'd manage that, but it made him think again of the book which had been sent and about the mausoleum... and he had to find out about those things first. Coffee... he had coffee... smoked a few cigarettes and then feeling a bit more comfortable and clean he sat down at the computer and checked out the cemetery incident first. Yes there had been an explosion. The teenager had died at the scene and the other person two days later. There didn't seem to be any theories as to what happened, but the damage had been extensive. There were no photos. The address on the docket from the book seemed to be a warehouse on the outskirts of the city. He could go there and check it out. Find out exactly what was going on there.

Before he could do anything though, a long and insistent buzz on his door let him know that someone needed to talk to him. Pressing the intercom and expecting it to be Sam or maybe Levin he asked who it was... at least the security had done what was necessary to keep people out. Well, not Floyd, but nothing could keep Floyd out. It wasn't either of those two though. The man said he was Special Agent Short and he'd like a quick word. Short... Spencer didn't know that name and he didn't recognise the voice. He buzzed him through and quickly cleaned his teeth and closed the lid on the laptop... prying eyes... no thank you.

'Dr Reid.' Short had already proven who he was by showing his badge. He had with him a partner... both men were tall and gangly. Both men carried guns. Both men didn't look as though they were prepared for anything but having things their way. They declined the coffee. They declined water. They sat in the very edge of the couch, ready to leap up at a moment's notice. 'The incident on the train.' It was a statement. Spencer nodded.

'I've told you all I know.'

'You've told me nothing.' Short told him. 'I don't want to hear what you have to say. You're going to listen to me and you're going to nod in the right places.' Spencer nodded, dutifully. 'Pigs blood.' Short said. The other Fed repeated it in case Spencer hadn't heard. 'A hoax. A cruel hoax which fooled the first people on the scene, but it's being explained to them as I explain it to you. A hoax. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. You might want to repeat what I've said... You may speak.'

'Pigs blood?'

'Pigs blood.' Short confirmed. 'There were no deaths.'

'They found heads.' Spencer told him. 'I heard the screams.'

'A hoax. Mannequin heads. Nothing but a joke by a sick individual who we have in custody. It won't happen again. No need to alarm the locals. No need at all.'

The other Fed spoke now... he'd been introduced as Agent Henry. 'And you might hear rumours on the street – as you hang around certain backstreets and alley ways... you might hear of mutilations, but I assure you that it's a rumour. There's nothing going on.'

'I hope you understand what we are saying.' Short cut in.

'That is was a hoax. It wasn't though. I know the smell of fresh death.' Spencer told them.

'I'm sure you do, Dr Reid. I'm very sure you do. I've read your file. I know about all there is to know about you. Now, if you read in the papers or...' He pointed at Spencer's closed laptop, '… on the internet – you will read of a great and ghastly hoax. Don't go telling people otherwise. We don't want to have you arrested for inciting panic amongst the people.'

'Panic.' Spencer sighed. 'So this matter isn't being investigated?'

'Oh... Dr Reid... surely you're not such a fool that you'd really think that we would drop it. What we do know is that people like Flanders thrive on media attention. That's what they do these things for. If we dismiss it all... you see where I'm going here?'

Spencer looked at the coasters on the table. 'I see where you _think_ you're going. But you're wrong. It wasn't Flanders. He's dead.'

'If you insist. There are many very elaborate hoaxes. That skull for example. You also insisted that was Flanders', yet it wasn't was it, Dr Reid. It was another hoax. Your life seems to be full of games. I suggest you start to realise that we are on to you... on to your little bed partner and on to that darling Lopez. And we _will_ find Sam Trent. We will... and he'll be locked up so tight he'll never see daylight again.' Both men stood up as though on cue. 'Goodbye. We'll be seeing each other again I expect. I'll definitely be seeing you...'

'Beware the shadows.' Spencer muttered. If they heard him he didn't know. Maybe he'd just thought it. Perhaps it was a voice in his head telling him. 'Thank you for the visit.' Spencer didn't know what else to say to this. They were on to Lopez? What for? How was he involved if they didn't know Sam was there? Had they been to see Levin and look for Sam? Spencer thought not. He sat and thought about what had been said. A cover up whilst they searched for Floyd. They'd not find him if he didn't want to be found and he didn't do things for media attention. They had him all wrong. Floyd did things because he wanted to... felt bored... or maybe lost control over a situation, but he never did it for attention... for protection, yes... oh yes. Floyd was very protective over people he considered to be his.

Spencer took a drive. He needed to get some air in his lungs and hair. He drove out to the place where the parcels had been sent from. A big warehouse and storage units. He found parked easily enough, found someone to ask directions... and was soon talking to the manager. Spencer said about the mysterious packages arriving from this address. The man – Brown – gave him a compliments slip. _Storage and delivery. Long and Short Term._ Well that didn't really answer Spencer's question. He wanted to know who have arranged to have things sent to him and where these things had been stored and how many things...

'There's whole unit.' Brown pointed towards a door. 'Fifty seven things remain in there. It's a once a year delivery... random object. We just pack and send it. It's all paper goods, books, magazines... you know?'

'And how does it get paid... fifty seven? At one a year? What about changes of address... increase in postal costs?'

'An amount of money is forwarded to us annually. It's been like that for the past five years now. I'm not at liberty to show you what's there. But all the time storage is being paid and the delivery charges are being paid... well, we will continue to deliver. As for change of address. If that happens the client will let us know.'

Well it sorted that problem. Floyd had arranged for a gift to be sent to him for at least the next fifty seven years. Spencer sat in the car and smiled. He rubbed at his temples and looked around at the drab grey place the warehouse sat... the graffiti and the rubbish blowing around, yet inside that corrugated building were treasures which one day would be delivered to him... from Floyd. He lit a cigarette and relaxed in the car for a moment. For just those few minutes, the world seemed almost perfect. Someone had loved him enough to make sure he was never forgotten. Someone had loved him enough to think of him. Not want anything from him... not demanding something back, just thinking "Spencer would like that." And then making sure that one day it would be placed in his hands. Spencer wiped the wet which seemed to be slipping down his face, threw the cigarette butt out of the window and drove away. He felt almost light headed. Very silly considering how the day had begun... stuck to the bedding... but even that made him smile. Actually, especially that.

Spencer spent the rest of the day folding laundry, cleaning, smiling and locating the nice red bed cover he'd had on the bed before some overly helpful person had decided to change it to a scratchy brown one. He then stood in front of the mirror naked and wet, wondering what he should wear in bed... 'Please... please come to me again tonight.' Spencer said to his reflection. 'Please hold me.' He ran a finger down the glass in the mirror... the mirror which had been fixed – no not fixed... replaced, yet it was the same mirror... just the glass had been replaced, but how was it that it still had that little fault in the top corner, that tiny bubble in the glass, or those little pin prick dots along the bottom where a long time ago, in a different century, it had been damaged by damp... that didn't make sense at all. It was as though he'd never broken them in the first place, and he even wondered if that's what had happened... he'd had one of his odd moments and imagined he'd smashed all the mirrors, yet his feet had been bleeding. He still had tiny scabs on the bottom of his feet... no... he'd broken the mirrors...

Not wanting to go to bed naked, Spencer pulled on one of Floyd's shirts. It had a row of white buttons just off centre down the front... deep cuffs with double rows of smaller white buttons, no collar, and it had dropped sleeves. It was incredibly comfortable. He'd never, to his knowledge, put on one of Floyd's shirts. He thought Floyd would kill him for doing it and he didn't think it would fit properly, and maybe if it had been any other sort of shirt it would have been too short, and the sleeves would have been half way down his arms, but the hem came to just below his buttocks at the back and the sleeves just about finished in the right place. It would have been fuller on Floyd, who hid his skinny frame by layering.

Lights out, Spencer checked the time on the alarm clock and lay there on his back waiting... He had no intention of going to sleep, but to just wait until his man came from him and like the slut he was – deep down – the deeper the better... he was offering himself to Floyd. Free of charge.

He did fall asleep though. The last time he glanced at the clock it said it was five in the morning. He had got up and emptied his bladder and padded back to bed wishing he had somewhere for the adrenaline to go to. He lay on his side and looked at the reflection of the green clock light on the wall and eventually closed his eyes. He didn't open them again until he felt the pressure of someone laying down on the bed behind him, a hand resting on his shoulder and a voice speaking into his ear.

'You've got my shirt on. Looks good.' Spencer was immediately wide awake. This was no dream. He knew this time... not a dream. Not a nightmare... just life. He tried to turn over, to hold onto Floyd and never let him go again but the hand on his shoulder was holding him there in place. 'No. Stay as you are.' He said as he nibbled on Spencer's ear.

'I want to see you. I need to see you. The last time...'

'Don't think about it, Babes... I'm here now. Sam did a good job. I just don't want you looking at me yet... Give me time. It's a long process, this healing shit... I'm not quite there yet, but good enough to make you happy.' He licked Spencer's neck. 'I do make you happy don't I?'

Sam... Sam did a good job. It was as Sam said it would be, getting the thanks for the work done. But Floyd was with him now. That was the important thing. He spoke in a whisper. 'More than I can say. You have no idea how much I've missed you.'

'No I don't. Tell me. Tell me how much you've missed me. Tell me that... and try to explain how happy you are.'

Again Spencer tried to turn over and again Floyd stopped him. Spencer swallowed as a very slight panic began to spread through him. 'You always make me happy.' Spencer told him.

'No... that's a blatant lie. I don't make you happy when I'm hurting you or fucking someone else, or letting some mother fucker take my head... You're not happy then are you? Were you happy as I bled my guts out onto the forest floor? Did that make you happy? Were you happy when I ripped those people apart on the train? Come, on now. Don't go quiet on me, Babes... Tell me... do I make you happy?'

Spencer went ridged with fear. He needed to pee desperately and wanted to turn over and look at this Floyd. He was right though. Whatever Spencer would like to say, Floyd didn't always make him happy. 'When you're here, holding me...'

Floyd cut him off. 'I'm not holding you as such. I'm kind of restraining you... I'm not intending for this to feel good.'

'When you send me things in the post... unexpected things. The way you... the... it's... you... coasters on the t – t – t – table.'

Fingers dug into Spencer's shoulder. 'So... what you're saying is that it's not me you want, but what you imagine... your idea of perfection, of _love_ – whatever that is – your dreams make you happy. Your greed makes you happy... not me. Not looking at me?'

'Of course!' Spencer put one of his hands over Floyd's. 'You're hurting me.'

'I am?' The fingers didn't loosen. 'Well you can't look at me, so if you can't look at me... I guess all there is to me is half a dozen fucking coasters and some tatty old books. That's me? That's all about me that makes you happy?'

'Being held. Hearing your voice.' Spencer managed to spit out, still trying to get Floyd to release his shoulder.

'But not fucking you? Not slipping you into my mouth? Does that not make you happy?'

'Yes!'

'Whore.' And Floyd dragged Spencer onto his back.

He wound his fingers in Floyd's hair, arched his back and got what he'd missed the night before. Had Floyd realised that Spencer had needed more? Or was it a coincidence? He didn't even consider that as Floyd pleasured him. All he could think was...

_OH GOD OH GOD OHGOD OHGOD OHGODOHGODOHGOD..._

Yes... Floyd could make him very happy... As he lay with the shirt stuck to his sweat and Floyd licked and kissed down Spencer's legs to his toes he suddenly thought of a million things he loved about Floyd... Reading to him... and being read to. Feeling safe... Feeling... feeling... toes being sucked and feet nibbling... That hand Floyd was using knew all the right places to touch... Damn the reading. It was fun. Of course it was fun. But this was what he really wanted Floyd for... here in the bed, or against a tree, over the hood of a car, pressed against the wall in a shop changing room, against the cold metal walls of an elevator, kneeling in the gents public restrooms. In the shower, or holding onto the faucets and banging his head on the wall. The tub. The floor in the lounge. The kitchen... anywhere and everywhere. That's what really made Spencer happy. Did that make him a slut? No... it merely meant that Floyd was so damned good at what he did that...

'Oh!'

and they fell into sweaty silence for a while.

'Can I do anything for you?' Spencer finally asked.

'No, Babes... no. I need to go soon. But tomorrow, I'll be back. Tomorrow night. Each day I get a bit, a bit more... how can I put this... needy. It's fuck you or Sam and Sam's with that whore Levin. I've had words with him. He'll keep Sam content for now, but that reminds me. I want to know why you left all the work to Sam. I want to know why you never came back for me. No... don't answer. Not now. I need you to think about it. I don't want stupid shit coming from your mouth or that damned stutter, or maybe I do want the damned stutter. I'll be back tomorrow. Perhaps I'll let you see me? If you're a good boy. You're going to be good for me, aren't you?'

'Always.'

'For the gods... Always? I hope not.' Floyd moved from the bed now. Spencer could see a faint outline but nothing more. It was like a deep shadow within the dark.

'I wish I could tell you how much I've missed you. I wish I had the words for it.'

'There's a good dictionary on the shelf out there. Look up some fancy words, Babes and let me know tomorrow.' Then the shadow seemed to melt and waver and Floyd was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

The Seraphim

Sam followed Levin out of the bedroom and into the long passage way. The main lights were out, but there was a very low glow from the occasional night-light. Levin had his eyes wide open, but Sam could tell that he was still asleep. He wondered if Levin had been telling the truth and had really been sleep walking that other time too. Sam could hear him muttering under his breath, but it seemed Levin was keeping all his words to himself. The only sounds were the distant murmur of the air and the swishing of Lev's red silk pyjamas. Sam couldn't hear what was being said though, just the general muttering and that muttering didn't sound happy. For two hours Levin walked up and down the passage. He stopped occasionally and his eyes almost seemed to be looking for something, but whatever it was he either didn't find it, or... maybe it was just an act? Levin was doing this knowing Sam was watching him; doing it so Sam would really think that he'd had a dream and not some bloke in the apartment when he was sleeping. Sam's nose twitched in annoyance as Levin crouched on the floor and seemed to pick something up and look at it. A small deep down keening sound seeped out from between those lips and Sam went over to him and shook him.

'Lev? Are you awake?'

The response wasn't what Sam had expected. No gentle hands. No loving words. No cake suddenly provided... not a pancake in sight. What Sam got was a scream and flailing arms lashing out. One hand caught him across the side of the face and the other, Lev smacked on the wall so hard that he left a small bloody smear on the white paint. Levin then ran. He ran down the passage, still howling in fear and around the corner, his feet slipping on the smooth floor. The passage led to a very long narrow room with floor to ceiling windows – well they would have been windows, but Levin had security screens over them. There was a small stone stair case leading upwards to the only other exit from the apartment. He threw himself at the stairs and began to climb on his hands and knees, which gave Sam the chance to grab Lev by his foot and pull him back down again. They both landed on the smooth floor in a tangle, but Lev's horrible cries had stopped and now it was just deep sobbing breaths Sam could hear. For a minute neither of them moved. Sam's face hurt, but he'd had a lot worse. He was a lot more concerned about what Levin had done... and just as he was thinking about sliding away and turning on a light, Levin wriggled over and went on the attack again. With his hands around Sam's throat, he pushed him back and against the metal shutters over the windows. Sam howled in surprise and kicked, scratched and bit back. He pulled back on Levin's fingers as stars started to shoot over his vision and finally Lev let go... Sam followed that by punching Lev on the nose, which Lev countered by grabbing Sam by the cock and twisting... shouting words now which Sam could hear, but not understand.

'You killed them! You killed the babies! You killed the glowing, shiny babies! You bastard! How could you do that!'

Fine... Levin was having some sort of weird nightmare, but Sam wasn't going to stand there and listen to this stupid babbling. He moved away... right away to the other end of the long room and he watched Levin attack the metal shutters still crying and sobbing and saying something about the poor babies. It made absolutely no sense to Sam at all. What he could see though was that maybe he wasn't as safe here as he thought he was. He'd never be safe sleeping next to Lev if he was going to do this... but then again Lev had ignored him until he'd touched him and now he had bruises much like Levin got and he had a bloody nose and it felt as though his cock was on fire and his hands hurt from punching and his heart felt a little bit broken. He turned on a light because the faint night lights weren't enough to see by... not really... and he saw Lev slide down the shutters sobbing and then curling up on the floor begging not to be hurt.

'I said... I said I'd love him... why have you done this?' Lev moaned.

Sam's eyebrows did a little dance, but he was more than a bit pissed off now. He took a shower and left a mess on the bathroom floor. He went to the kitchen and had toast with strawberry jam and he used the toilet and didn't flush or wash his hands... his bad mood gradually darkened and his fear right along with it. He didn't want to go back to bed in case he fell asleep and Lev killed him with an axe or a kitchen knife of stove in his head with the meat tenderising mallet or maybe Lev would cut his cock off and make him eat it as he lay there screaming and bleeding and realising that even if he lived there'd be no point. Sam shuddered and went to the kitchen looking for something to defend himself with and then went to the small area by the elevator and sat in the corner armed with a pile of plates to throw and a carving knife. If Levin came for him... he'd give him something to think about.

There was a dilemma though. Sam couldn't risk leaving the apartment. There were people looking for him. He knew that. And the location of Lev's place was just a little bit too close to where Spencer was. If there were people out there searching for Sam, then Spencer would be on their watch list. He had nowhere to go. He couldn't go to Spencer. Floyd hadn't come back yet – though he thought he would – and Levin was completely bonkers and dangerous. He couldn't stay here. He couldn't leave. There was only one other option. Sam looked down at the knife and his stomach heaved with remorse. He didn't _want_ to kill Levin. But it seemed that he had no option. To stay safe he had to eliminate all danger and Lev had become just that. Sam licked his lips and wondered what life would be like without Levin. He spent some time pouting and wishing it didn't have to be this way, but he really could think of no other way out. He'd kill him – he'd not decided how yet – and strip him off and maybe fuck him and then he'd cut him into bits and some parts he'd cook and other parts he'd crush or mash and put in the garbage disposal. No one would miss him. Not a person on the planet would.

Thus he'd decided. But for now he stayed where he was – he needed to decide how he was going to do it.

An hour later and Levin was standing there in his red pyjamas looking down at Sam. Sam was looking back and even thought that Levin looked resigned; as though he knew what Sam had planned.

'I had a dream.' Levin said through his strange unmoving lips.

'You tried to kill me.' Sam replied.

Levin slipped down to his knees and rested his head in his hands. 'I'd never... never hurt you.'

'You – tried – to – kill – me.' Sam spoke slowly in case Lev had gone stupid. 'You tried to pull my dick off! It's swollen... and not in a very good way either! What in the name of all fuck is wrong with you? What are the shiny babies and who killed them?'

It wasn't really possible for Levin's face to show much expression, but right there... right there on his face as he looked up at Sam, was shock. 'No.' He hissed between his teeth. 'That was a dream.'

'For sure.' Sam replied. 'I've been having my own dreams and they all revolve around killing you. But no matter, it's only a dream, huh?'

Levin wiggled forwards on his knees. 'Sam... I'm sorry!'

Sam hurled a plate like it was a Frisbee, which caught Levin on the forehead with a smashing crunch. It didn't knock him out cold, but it knocked him backwards onto the floor and Sam was on him in a blink, sitting across Levin's hips with the knife pressed up under his chin. 'I've no other choice. I can't leave here and I can't trust you. You hurt me, Lev. You fucking tried to pull my head off then tried to do the same to my cock and that's really precious to me, you know? You understand don't you?'

'Just put the knife down, Sam. Please. It was a bad dream.'

Sam let out a small sob. 'That's the problem! If you'd known what you were doing then you could explain and we could be OK again and I'd forgive you and carry on loving you, because I do love you Levin, but you did it in your fucking sleep! How can I even rest again if I think you're going to attack me and not even know you're doing it.' The knife dug in slightly and a trickle of blood ran down the side of Levin's neck.

'Oh... Sam! Please. We'll work something out!' He went to grab at the knife, but Sam quickly moved it and held it high with the point downwards.

'No – no we can't. We can't sort it. I don't want to sort it. I can take the slapping when we're having fun and playing our games, but that wasn't a game Lev. That scared me. And I don't like to be scared. So there's nothing else I can do... is there?'

The knife swung down, it pierced Levin just under the second button on from the top on his pretty pyjamas. It sliced through the fabric and the skin and whatever else there was inside of Levin as they both screamed... Sam in an explosion of adrenaline and Levin in shock, pain and fear... Sam could feel the knife scrape bone, and with the knife all the way in, Sam pressed down on the handle to make sure... make very sure that the tip was tapping the white floor under him.

'Don't move.' Sam said. 'Move and I'll pull it out and do it again. Don't you fucking well move or I'll castrate you and see how much _you_ like it. Don't move Levin, because if you do you're even more dead than you all ready are. Don't pull it out... just leave it... wait...' Sam took his hand off the handle and stood. Levin wasn't screaming now, but his eyes were rolling around in their sockets like they were trying to download information from the inside of his skull and work out how not to die. 'I'm leaving. I'll call an ambulance for you.'

Levin opened his mouth slightly... one of those rare times that his lips moved, but it was just blood that trickled from the corner of his mouth.

'Stop it!' Sam howled at him. 'Stop bleeding like that! Stop making it so messy! I wanted it to be beautiful! I wanted to plan it better. I didn't want it to be like this! Just stop it!' Sam turned and hurtled down the corridor ripping off his own scant pyjamas and rushing into the large dressing room which joined onto the bedroom. He took clothes... jeans, Tshirts, jackets, dresses... skirts, underwear... makeup... a hairbrush, and then from the lounge drawer he took a wad of cash... he had dressed quickly in baggy black jeans and a black Tshirt... but he had nothing on his feet yet. He moved back to Levin, throwing the bag at the elevator door.

'I didn't want to do this...' Sam snapped. Levin blinked back. 'I don't want to go out there. I don't want to be on the streets again... Do you want me to finish you?' Sam could see snakes of blood crawling away over the tiled floor. 'Or I can leave you to die slowly. I don't care either way.' Again all Levin did was blink. Sam looked at the blood coming out of Lev's nose and the bubbles of blood popping around his lips. 'Ten minutes at the most. Medics won't get here in time. You're as good as dead. You want me to call someone anyway?'

A blink again... but some words too. 'I loved you.' His words bubbled... Sam got up off the floor, punched in the security number on the elevator and left.

Whilst Sam's world quickly fell apart around his ears... the mugging... the taking of the money he'd stolen from the man he'd stabbed, the bag of designer clothes which was torn from his hands and as he was kicked and punched and left in a puddle, Floyd was looking down at Levin and considering what to do next. Cook him up... eat him raw... skin him and make a nice new bag or even make a Levin doll. He had most of what he needed for that right there, laying on the floor with eyes wide open and blood still bubbling from his mouth.

Thin slices of flesh, stuffed with mushrooms and steamed in milk and honey or thicker slices grilled with red pepper and onion with melted cheese, or mince it down and make a good old chilli, or maybe use that heart to make a lovely rich stew. Fresh meat always so much nicer... even better if you remove it before the animal is dead. He could make burgers, have a spaghetti bolognese with plenty of garlic, though Floyd didn't think that human flesh went so well with that. But there could be pies, pasties, stews of many descriptions... or just tiny bits of raw meat served with a spicy dip, or maybe a cheese dip.

But Levin was still breathing. Sam had legged it... but he'd not call for help. Sam was stupid, obviously judging by the mess he'd left behind, but not so daft that he'd call for help with his finger prints everywhere. So Floyd hunkered down next to dinner – next to Levin and considered for a little while.

'I can make you better.' Floyd told him, but he didn't think Levin was able to hear... the eyes were sort of blank and the breathing was so shallow that it was likely to stop soon. There was that familiar stink of fear and piss, but that didn't bother Floyd. If they didn't piss themselves you didn't do it right... that's what he always thought. Where is the point in killing if you didn't feel that fear flowing from the victim. 'I can let you die.' Floyd then said. He leaned over Levin and took hold of the knife handle. 'Either way, this has to come out. You see, I'm much more than I appear to be, but... you know, if I let you live, you'll be mine forever. Not mine in the same way Spencer is mine or even Sam is mine. You'll be mine in a far more – dead – sort of way.' Floyd paused and ran a finger over the bloody lips. 'I can leave you to rot, I can drag you down into hell, I can plead for mercy and see if there's ever lasting life for you. Which do you think you deserve? Do you _want_ a chance to redeem yourself for your vile sins? Do you? Do you even consider you've committed sins? What is classed as a sin when you're something like you, Seraphim? You want my help or not? And if I decide to give it – what will give me the most pleasure? I can see you in your fancy kit being the good guy and living an eternity in The Great Forest. I could do that for you... it's almost like sending you home. But maybe I don't want to give you what I can't have myself.' He pushed long blond hair off Levin's face. 'But why give you what I've been cursed with, just because I think you're just that little bit too pretty? Or... let the rot take you... I can't do that. I could slice you open and devour you but I can't leave you to rot away. Too much of a waste.' Floyd took a deep breath. 'For each like you that I deliver I get a reward.' He gripped the knife tighter. 'Not going to even attempt to save you, Lev. Not worth it. See you in hell brother.' He slid the knife out of Levin's chest. There was a slight shuddering as Floyd bent over him and kissed him almost lovingly on the lips. 'Death is very misunderstood. Nothing is forever. Forever can't exist. There's always a way out. You just have to find it.' Floyd said as he lapped at the blood, sucked on Levin's lips, breathing the words down into Lev's soul.

Levin let out a final shuddering breath and Floyd stood there looking down at him for a moment. 'Stew.' He said to himself and walked off towards the kitchen, licking at the bloody knife.

'I miss you. Everything reminds me of you. I smile and I seem carefree, but inside I'm in constant pain. I want to feel your hands on me. I want to feel you under my hands. I miss protecting you. I miss being there for you. I miss understanding you and seeing that agony in your own eyes when you think I'm not looking. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I would rather die than have to live until I'm old and never see you or hear your voice again. Or smell your skin or taste you in my mouth. I hunger for you. I thirst for you. Just tell me what I have to do and I'll do it. I am nothing without you. Nothing... an empty shell which cannot look at another person and wish it wasn't you.'

Spencer said this over and over again, so that when Floyd came back he'd be able to say it without stuttering and without sounding afraid. He didn't want Floyd to think he was scared of him. Yes – yes there were times that terror took over completely, but what about all those other times? Those times when they just sat and didn't need to talk or do anything but be next to each other, taking in each other's smells and knowing that the other was there. What about that? That is special. That is what Spencer decided was real love. That is what it was all about... not needing anything except for that person to want to be at your side. Each protecting the other equally. Though he had to admit that Floyd did most of the protection, Spencer did lie for him, cover up for him... that was just another form of protection. He hoped Floyd could see that. He hoped Floyd knew that already and didn't need to be told.

Spencer put on dark brown jeans and a beige shit. He considered a tie decided not to risk it and then put one on anyway. He wanted to look as though he'd made some kind of an effort. He'd washed, shaved everywhere and slathered himself in body butter. He could smell the fresh coconut scent as he stood preparing coffee for the evening, trying to leave nothing to chance. Spencer had also turned on every light in the apartment. Tonight he wanted to see Floyd... not just feel, hear and smell him. Tonight Spencer was going to tell Floyd what needed to be said and he was going to look him in those dark and wonderful eyes as he did so.

But now it was just gone two in the morning and there'd been no sign of anything. He'd rebrushed his teeth at midnight. He'd sat and smoked even though strictly speaking this was a no smoking apartment. It had never stopped Floyd and it seemed it had never stopped Spencer either. He was looking at his watch, counting the seconds until the hands read three when the apartment suddenly went dark. Spencer let out a small yelp of alarm and was about to get up and check the electrics when a hand touched his knee.

'Stay.'

It was Floyd... Floyd was here. 'But I want to see you.' Spencer almost whined. He reached out and touched the soft fabric of Floyd's trousers. It didn't feel like he was wearing jeans.

'Well I'm not quite ready for that yet. I've got something to tell you.'

Spencer felt the rush of air as Floyd knelt on the floor in front of him. Now two hands rested on his knees. 'Me first.' Spencer said as he placed his own hands over Floyd's and in a rush of words he blurted out what he'd been practising all day... And then waited for Floyd to respond to it, to maybe tell him that he loved him... maybe to hold him tight and thank him for what he'd said.

'Levin's dead.' Was the loving reply.

'What?' Spencer thought for a moment that he'd heard wrong? 'You killed Levin?'

'Not as such. Sam had that honour, though he didn't stay to watch. He ran like a scared child into the streets and left Levin to bleed on the apartment floor with a knife in his not very manly chest. He was still breathing – just – but I guess pulling the knife out finished him. At least I was there when he died. Yes?'

'Sam? What did he do that for? What were you doing there?' A pang of jealousy swept through Spencer, making his face feel hot and his hands tighten around Floyd's.

'Well I was there to... to... Well, let me put it like this. When someone finds his remains – they're going to assume I did it. And in a way I suppose I did... but he was so tasty, Spencer and he was mine. I claimed him.'

'You claimed him.' Spencer repeated. He knew what that meant. 'You had sex with Levin?'

Floyd snatched his hands away from Spencer. 'Now I didn't say that did I? No I didn't. Spencer, what sort of a monster do you think I am. I just ate part of him.'

'Oh! Well then it's all right! You didn't have sex with a corpse, you just ate bits of him! That makes so much difference!' Spencer was not shocked – as in, he wasn't really all that revolted by it. He knew Floyd did things like that. It was more of a disappointment. 'They will come here looking for you. They will know it's you and they will assume you killed him and... For goodness sake! You should be keeping your head down! Not eating the people the cops are watching! What about Sam?'

Floyd grabbed Spencer by the front of his shirt and pulled him forwards. 'Indeed. What about him? I give him a couple of days at the most. He won't survive out there. He's too stupid and too pig headed. He'll either be picked up or he'll be dead. Two days. So we don't have to concern ourselves about Sam. Now stand up... if you don't mind...'

'Do you care? Do you care about Sam?' Spencer asked as he slowly stood in the darkness. He could see nothing. Not even a glimmer of metal shining... He could see a slightly darker shadow in front of him, as Floyd pushed him carefully out of the way and sat himself down where he'd been sitting only a second ago.

'I care nothing about Sam. Should I?'

'I would think.' Spencer sighed. 'He's your spawn.'

'I shat him out in the dark. That's where he'll go back to. Creatures like that have short but colourful lives. Does my uncaring attitude bother you? Kneel in front of me. I want you to pleasure me.'

Well Spencer wasn't much in the mood for that. Nothing was going the way he thought it would. He slowly lowered himself to the floor. 'You care about me?' Spencer again reached out, this time running a hand along Floyd's thigh.

'You?' There was a snort of a laugh. 'The last time you saw me, I'd taken you to a forest to kill you. Now what do you think that says about how much of a shit I give about you?' Floyd picked up one of Spencer's hands and laid it on the front of his odd breeches. 'Unbutton me... pleasure me.'

Spencer's hands were shaking. Maybe fear or intense excitement, he wasn't sure... wasn't ever certain that he didn't need to be insulted and hurt to enjoy something to this degree. 'What are you wearing?' He asked as he fiddled with the buttoned flap on the front of Floyd's breeches.

'Do you like it?' Floyd asked as he stroked the side of Spencer's face.

'Well I'm not sure. I can't actually see it.' He looked up at Floyd... and grinned.

'Don't bare your teeth at me, Spencer. I will take that as a threat.' Fingers pinched Spencer's cheek.

Spencer's hands stilled on the button he was battling with. The grin went in a flash and confusion now covered his face. 'I was smiling. It wasn't a threat.'

'Smile with your mouth closed. I don't want to see your over worked ugly teeth... and when you're a about to put your mouth around a man's or a boy's cock, showing your bleached teeth isn't what is needed. Bite me and I'll hurt you so bad you'll wonder how you're still alive. Believe me. You trust my word don't you?'

'Of course.' The shaking had upped a notch. The stuttering was going to start again soon. He could feel that delay in his brain getting ready to kick in. 'I was just smiling. It was meant to show you that I'm happy.'

Floyd grabbed Spencer's hands away from his clothing and held them tightly in his hands, squeezing and rubbing his thumbs over the back of Spencer's hands. 'You have a beautiful face. Don't distort it with your damned teeth. You have the cutest little dimples at the corner of your mouth, but I can only see those and feel that desire to lick them if you smile with your damned mouth closed. No one wants to see your back teeth... no one. So do as you're told and the world will be a happier place. Now... get on with what you were doing. You've unbuttoned enough.' He let go of Spencer's hands and leaned back in the chair.

'I still wish I could see what you're wearing.' Spencer's hands started touching. He heard a satisfied sigh from Floyd. He knew – thought he knew – exactly what it was Floyd liked and did his best not to disappoint.

'I'm not wearing these things to please you, Spencer. I'm wearing them to please myself. It's not your business what I'm wearing any more than what you decided to drag on interests me.'

Spencer's hands stilled for a moment. Now he was annoyed. Floyd could be a bitch, but this was just un-necessary. 'I chose carefully. I thought I'd make myself look good for you. If you could see what I had on instead of sitting here hiding in the dark...'

It wasn't much more than a flick of the hand from Floyd, but it was enough to catch Spencer under the chin and send him back... skidding over the coffee table to a jumble on the floor the other side. Floyd got to his feet and redid the buttons on the breeches. 'I didn't come here to be lectured. I came here to get a blow job. If you're not capable of one simple thing then forget it.'

'I... Floyd... I... P – p – p... pl pl... please! I d – d -d...'

'Oh shut the fuck up, Spencer! I've had a hard day and all you do is moan about the lighting. What in the name of everything fuckable is wrong with you? Is it because I ate Levin? Did you get hard when you saw him? Did he make your balls tingle? Answer me!'

Spencer crawled into a corner. Somehow he'd managed not to get too hurt in that one slap. And yes he was tingling and yes it did things to him... the blood flowed beneath his skin forcing Spencer to groan slightly. 'N... no.' He hissed from between his teeth. 'No...' But it wasn't Levin that did that to him. It was that man standing in the dark. 'Floyd... can... can we... can we st – st – start again?'

'Actually... maybe. At least when my cock is in your mouth I don't have to listen to you trying to talk. Get your arse over here... or your mouth... and this time you will do it properly. And when have I ever... on this mad gods earth... when did I ever say you looked good in brown jeans. Move it! Get here and I'll sort the buttons. Don't think I can sit here for another hour whilst you mess around with my clothing... just you touching me's going to cause a mess. Hurry, Babes... do it. '

Floyd pulled his hair, dug fingernails into the back of his neck... yelped once and let out a strange moan. Spencer had done a good job. He had made his man happy. Now Spencer needed Floyd to make him happy in exchange. He wanted to at least touch his face, if he wasn't permitted to look at it. He wanted to feel the curves and contours of the jaw and cheeks. He wanted to run fingers across Floyd's brow, to kiss him on the nose, lips, cheeks, ears... and neck. He desperately needed to remind his fingers of the face... if Floyd still refused to let the lights be on. Spencer placed his hands on Floyd's chest... again an odd garment... it felt like thick wool and brocade... a double row of buttons there... but as soon as his fingers got ready to move to the upper chest, Floyd stopped him.

'What is your need to touch what I've asked you not to? I can trust you to scrape your teeth over my pulsating knob, but not to keep your hands away from my face? Why? No... don't even bother to answer, I'll be here all fucking night.'

Spencer wanted him here all night! Surely Floyd wasn't going to go again? But the man was doing up the buttons again. 'Stay.' Spencer managed to say.

'They will be looking for me. I've done things I should have not.' Floyd ran a hand down Spencer's arm. 'Let me hold you. Sit... don't face me... but sit.' Floyd dragged Spencer onto his lap and wrapped his arms around him tightly. Spencer could feel Floyd pressing his face onto his back. His hands pressing onto his stomach. 'You smell of coconuts.' Spencer was told. 'It's good.' Spencer responded with a sob of a breath. No words were going to come now. His brain had disconnected his mouth for a while. 'You and Sam... mostly Sam, but you did the right thing. I'll tell you something. I don't know if you know this, but I've never been decapitated before. It was a very odd experience.' Another sob from Spencer. 'My mind worked for a small while afterwards. Not long... seconds... but enough to know that I'll never allow that to happen again. Enough to know that I'm not sure I'd do that to someone when still living. Levin was dead when I took his head. I made sure of that.'

'Oh.' Spencer uttered.

'You think I wanted to do that to him? I'd been sending him body parts in the post to keep him to my will. I visited him in dreams... I controlled him. I made him my creature. Not because I liked him. He was scum. He was a filthy creature. He is The Seraphim. Grounded for his lusts. Forced to see out his days on this mad world. But Sam liked him. He was keeping Sam safe until... until Sam saw fit to stab him with a carving knife. It's a shame. They could have survived a bit longer together. Sam was happy.' Floyd paused and moved his hands down to Spencer's belt... fingers swiftly undid that and then made their way to the waistband of his jeans. 'Levin didn't know he was The Seraphim... even though that's the name the streets gave him. Smug little shit. Displaying his wealth in the most crude ways. I made some deals.'

'Oh.' Spencer said again. He wanted to say more, but now it was his throat which was locked and unable to work as Floyd slid his hands downwards and started to give Spencer some hand relief.

'I've sent him on to wait for us.' A pause in the words and some deep breaths... Spencer squirmed and moved to meet Floyd's massaging hands. 'With Levin gone and me not totally back here yet, Sam will die. There's nothing I can do to save him. Well there probably is actually, but I'm not making deals just for Sam. He's not worth it. I can get another Sam. He's nothing but something to fuck... and I've got you for that. This though is my thoughts.' Spencer pushed back hard against Floyd who grinned into the fabric of Spencer's shirt. Even half dead he could still make Spencer lose his mind with a few strokes of the hand. 'I can't live here, Spencer. I can't stay.' Another pause as Floyd moved his hands and pulled something from a pocket. 'Here... tissues.' He then pushed Spencer off his lap and crossed his legs... watching the shadows in the darkness and listening for Spencer's breathing... listening to the thumping of his fuck's heart. 'With The Seraphim gone and Sam gone... there is nothing holding me here but you. I can't be trapped here, Spencer. Do you understand what I'm saying.'

'No.' A whispered voice from the floor. 'Give – give m – m – me a moment.'

Floyd sighed... it was such a struggle explaining this sort of thing to Spencer. It would have been so much easier if he'd been stupid, but Spencer _did_ understand most of what Floyd explained... even if he had to instruct Spencer as though he was a five year old. 'I was going to kill you that day in the forest.'

'Yes. I know.' Spencer was up on his knees again; kneeling in front of Floyd, hands on Floyd's knees and shuffling forwards, trying to get Floyd to uncross his legs so he could get closer.

'I've not changed my mind.' Floyd told him. 'There is no alternative. There is a sort of peace to be found in death if you can be satisfied. Would you be? I don't know. I really don't know what you'll do... or what will happen. It'll be put to chance and I'm not so sure I want to put it to chance, so another deal maybe? No... no more deals. If I'm going to do this, I'll do it right because I'm pissed off with being told what I can and cannot do. You see?'

'I think so.'

'Good. So you accept that I will let you die... not tonight, don't panic. I have to see what's going on with Sam first. Decide if I should let him go tonight, tomorrow... when... I'm not sure. I could protect him, but it would mean becoming involved with him, letting him know I'm here and I don't want to do that. I need to keep my distance... but I should at least make sure it's quick for him. Don't you agree? Or perhaps his cowardly behaviour with Levin means I should let him die slowly. I thought I'd taught him better than that. Sure, let your victim know they're about to die... but then just get on with it... and stay to watch... I've always stayed to watch unless circumstances meant I had to leave the scene... it was un-necessary, Spencer. So... I need to check up on Sam... then I'll come back for you. Then the four of us will be together. You will be able to see me. I will allow that much. Prepare yourself. Find something nice to wear. Eat your last meal. Have a drink and maybe a walk in the park. The only way we can be together is to die.'

Spencer was grinding his teeth. Die... death... he didn't want to die. 'Floyd...'

'Hush... I know that when you think about it that you'll agree. The only way forward from this point is death. I've discovered that for myself. I'm a much better person now than I was before. Much better. I have my head screwed on right again. I can do what needs to be done. I'll sort it for me, but if you want me, you're going to have to trust me. Do you want me, Spencer?'

'But if I'm dead, I'll not have you.'

Floyd stood up, brushing fingers across Spencer's hair. 'Don't wear brown jeans again.'

'You said four of us.'

'Four of us, yes. I'll be back, Spencer. Tomorrow or the day after. Do what you need to do to prepare. Consider it suicide. But you must wait for me. You will wait.'

'Yes.'

'Good. See? Everything is going to be great. Thanks for the blow. You've such a sweet mouth when you're not showing your teeth like a weapon. I'll knock the bastards out of your face the next time I see them.' Floyd gave Spencer a quick kiss on the top of the head and before Spencer could respond or say more or ask a question, the lights were back on again. Spencer sat on his chair alone and wondered if any of what had just happened had been real, but there were coasters of the floor from where Floyd had smacked him over the coffee table. He could feel under his chin where a bruise was likely to be showing by the morning. He could taste the man in his mouth, smell him on his hands... and there was a small bunch of tissues on the floor. Spencer sat staring at them until a shaft of light slipped through the gap in the curtains. Maybe he should have been thinking of a way to escape. A way out of this... Floyd said he was going to come back to kill him. Floyd had said to prepare for suicide. Spencer slowly shook his head. There seemed to be so few areas of which Spencer had any control over. The matter of his death – of anyone's death was something which the fates had a hold of – taking your own life was just those fates messing with your head and forcing you in another way. Making you think you had a choice when you didn't. Spencer wondered if getting into his car and just driving away would solve anything. He thought not.

That morning he wrote a letter to his mother. He'd been horrible lax writing to her over the past couple of years. She didn't miss them. She didn't miss him. That was evident from what was said when he last went to see her. But he wrote down that he loved her, that he was sorry that things didn't turn out differently. He was sorry that he'd not provided her with grand children... that he was all there was and again he reminded her of how much he loved her. He then tore it up and started again. This time just a quite note saying that he hoped she was well. No offers of love which she'd laugh at. No empty apologies which she'd sneer at. Not that it really mattered. He'd not be there to see her read it. That was the whole point of writing, wasn't it? He put it in an envelope with her name and address on the front, but didn't plan on mailing it. He just left it there on the desk. Someone would find it. Someone would make sure she got it. It really made no difference. It just made him feel better. He remembered that day when he had her taken away. He remembered the way she begged them not to do it. He remembered the way Floyd had comforted him afterwards and told him it was for the best. He remembered those salty kisses mixed with tears and those calloused hands, later that night... after Spencer had shown his gratitude on his knees... after that... the remembered those hands around his neck as Floyd shook him and spat in his face, telling him to stop damned well crying. "It's not like she's fucking dead, is it?" Floyd had snarled at him...

So mother was missed. At least by Spencer she was... though Floyd had been there for support. Floyd had also been there to make sure that Spencer knew that if someone got in the way, he would get rid of them.

He went for a walk, picking up a coffee to go at the corner shop. He didn't want to stop and play chess. It reminded him of Levin in his strange long coats and that unmoving mouth and expressionless face... He didn't want to be reminded of that right now, knowing that the man was laying butchered in his apartment. The thought made Spencer feel a tad queasy. It didn't stop his sipping coffee as he called a cab and took a ride to the park.

Once there he sat until mid day. He people watched. He looked at the girls in overly short shirts, boys in their overly baggy and falling down jeans. He looked at men in suits, women in high heels and smart office wear. He watched young mums pushing babies... mums not out of childhood themselves but having to cope with crying babies and screaming children. What hope did they have... not the kids... the kids would survive, but those mums with nothing in the future but child raising and men with the waistband of their jeans around their upper thighs...

He watched laughing children too and laughing parents... he heard a woman singing to her child... heard a man talking to his lover on a cell phone. Watched people reading as they walked along, or bouncing to music or texting on their iPhones and Spencer wondered how many of these people would still be alive this time tomorrow, or next week. He finished his coffee and disposed of his rubbish in the bin and then walked down to look at the river. He considered throwing himself in, but knowing his luck he'd swim to the side, pull himself out and get covered in dog muck. Not today. No thank you. He thought of getting a cab home again, but decided to walk. He wanted to breathe the city air today... that stinking fume filled muck which everyone made such a fuss about. How would they feel if they knew that tomorrow they'd only be able to breathe in death? Maybe they'd be happier about the air quality.

Police cars and ambulances rushed by with flashing lights and people standing staring. Spencer wondered if they were going to the park to pick up a corpse. He didn't stop and watch, but walked back home again, wondering what he should wear tonight... what would make Floyd think he'd tried to make an effort? And how on earth did Floyd know he was wearing brown when it had been so dark he could only find his way around via echolocation?

The apartment felt very empty. He tided what there was to tidy, and then went and looked for something suitable to die in... or run away in. Though he knew from experience that running away was not possible.

Or even what he really wanted to do.

He found some black jeans and a short sleeved dark red shirt. He threw the shirt to the side and had another look. Really the things he had to wear were not anything special. Some were actually quite nasty. He eventually found a Tshirt... slightly faded black, but it was comfortable. He put on boots, black Vans and then he made more coffee... cleaned his teeth and grinned at himself in the mirror. He could see nothing wrong with the way he smiled, but he'd have to be careful when Floyd was around. He had showered and coconutted himself again. Everything was as it should be. So with a light on he picked up one of his Manga magazines and started to look at the pictures. It was a very long night and he'd read sixty three of the magazines by the time the light appeared again, slipping across the floor as morning arrived. No Floyd.

All Sam had wanted was a little bit of comfort. He felt almost bad about what he'd done to Levin. But it was done now and nothing he could do about it. He was more annoyed that he'd lost his bed and somewhere to shower. He'd lost a free supply of warmth and hands and now he had to go out and find some more. He thought he'd at least found some for the night. The man picked him up as he walked, sulking and miserable down the road. He'd been keeping his eye out for cops and avoiding them easily, but this bloke seemed OK enough. His car wasn't wonderful, but it was red and Sam had always liked red cars. The man was in his fifties and a bit over weight, but not terribly so. He was in faded blue jeans and a Tshirt with the logo of a band Sam had never heard of... red logo on a grey Tshirt... he had a baseball cap on back to front, but Sam never saw that this man with a sly face and quick hands was greying and rapidly losing his hair. None of that mattered. What mattered to Sam was a quick buck and kind words.

'You from around here?' The man asked him.

'Nope.' Sam answered.

'Got some place to go?'

'Nope. Sam told him. 'I'm just sort of travelling.'

'No family?' The man asked.

Sam laughed at that and smiled. 'Not any more.'

'A kid all on his own then?'

Sam nodded. 'Yeah... just me.'

They sat in silence as the man drove the car out of the city and into the less habited areas. It was dark and there was now a light rain falling. It was cosy and nice inside the car with the heating on and someone having the occasional grope. Sam didn't tell him he'd been gelded. No need to say anything yet. Wait until the guy was too needy to care. It really didn't matter. A mouth was a mouth... and an arse likewise. The rest of it was irrelevant.

'Where are you taking me?' Sam eventually asked when the journey went from the usual five minutes to half an hour.

'Somewhere quiet.' The guy said as he placed a hand on Sam's thigh. Sam altered his position slightly so the creep could get a better feel.

'Won't here do?' Sam looked out of the window at the darkness around them. 'Seems pretty quiet here.'

'Soon.' And the hand moved upwards to touch the fabric of Sam's dirty jeans, between his legs. Sam again shifted the way he was sitting.

'You want me to blow you?' Sam now reached out and touched the guy's leg.

'Not here.' And the hand was pushed away.

Sam frowned but let it be for now. Maybe he just didn't want to be distracted by wandering hands... maybe his hands were too good for the guy. Sam grinned to himself out of the window as a load of trees rushed by. He chewed on his top lip and turned to look at the bloke again. 'It's raining.'

'Yu hu.' Was the reply.

Another five minutes and the car started to slow down. They were at the side of some fields which seemed to stretch on forever. A slight twinkling of a barbed wire fence could be seen... raindrops shining in the moonlight. The car tyres scrunched on the dirt at the side of the road and bumped over a lump of some sort. The engine cut and the car lights went out. They'd arrived. Good. Time to get down to business and give this guy some fun.

'Get out.'

Sam looked out at the wet night and then back at the man again. 'Out? It's raining. Can't we do it here?' But he was all ready undoing the seat belt and his hand was on the door handle. The man shook his head and pointed at Sam's door.

'Out.'

Sam was unsure now. Was this some kind of a joke? Was the guy just going to drive away and leave him here? 'Did I do something wrong?' He pushed the door open anyway.

'I like the fresh air.' Sam was told, so he sighed and slipped out of the car. He still had nothing on his feet and his clothes were disgustingly dirty, but in the dark no one could see that. It didn't matter. At least he hoped it didn't matter.

Sam closed the car door and then stood leaning against it, looking out over the dark fields. It would be quite good fun doing it in the rain. Perhaps the guy had something there. He heard the other car door closing and the crunch of feet on the dirt.

'Over the hood.' Sam was told. Ah... so it was going to be like that. Not that he cared. It was all money in the end. Twenty bucks was twenty bucks. Sam turned to face the hood of the car and started to undo his jeans. The man would want access after all. He curled his toes into the dirt for better grip and pushed his jeans down slightly. Some people wanted to do the undressing for him, but Mr Baseball Cap seemed to want it just there on display. Lazy fuck.

'You ready?' The voice said... there was something odd about his voice. Sam was about to turn around to ask if there was something wrong when his world turned black. An iron bar smacked the back of his head and his face impacted with the metal of the car hood. He didn't feel the man pull him away and throw him into a growing puddle at the side of the road and Sam didn't feel the next half dozen blows to his head. He didn't feel the man drag him by his hair and roll him into a ditch at the side of the road. He didn't hear the car's engine starting up or the sound of the car turning and going back the way it had come.

Sam took in a small ragged breath. There was a little bit of water in the ditch and more was trickling down the sides. He blinked, but couldn't move. There seemed to be something wrong with his neck. One arm was bent up underneath him and the other was at a funny angle at his side. His bare arse glistened with the rain as it started to fall heavier... slowly filling his little ditch. He could taste ditch water in his mouth... he could taste blood in his mouth, which felt all wrong and sharp and jagged... and though he'd blinked he could see nothing... something wet was trickling out of his ears... it was something hot. He wanted to lick his lips but couldn't do that. He wanted to feel what the bastard had done to his face, but his arms couldn't move. He wanted to call for help but no... couldn't do that either. More rain fell. More water ran down the side of the roadside ditch. That's what the ditches were there for, to stop the roads flooding.

Floyd stood at the edge looking down. He had no problem seeing in the dark He could see the blood coming out of Sam's ear and he could see the way the water was rising... oh... oh so very slowly... it would take a whole night fall of rain for it to reach that smashed and broken nose. It would take hours for the water to trickle over Sam's smashed teeth. Floyd could call for help. There was maybe still time – or he could stand and watch. He did the latter. Sam should have stayed with Levin. He really should. This will be a lesson. If you say you love someone – even if you don't fully understand the meaning of that word – but if you say it, and then stick a knife in that person, then you should stay with them until the last breath is drawn... not run away. Yes... this would be a good lesson for Sam... dying there in a ditch with his jeans around his knees and his face smashed. He's lucky the guy didn't stuff the metal bar up his arse too...

'Idiot. Selfish fucking cunt.'

Those where the comforting words Floyd offered Sam as he hunkered down five hours later and watched Sam drown in his piss and blood filled watery grave.

* * *

**a/n: I have an epic saga growing in my head. Sorry!**


	9. Chapter 9

Moving On.

The next day Spencer paced his apartment. He removed the clothes he'd chosen and put on a bathrobe over blue pyjamas. He wanted to be fresh and ready for when Floyd arrived. He'd stripped the bed and given everything a very hot wash. He'd cleaned and made sure that the bathroom was perfect. The place was spotless. He was as ready as he'd ever be. He pulled the curtains closed, put his black jeans and Tshirt back on and with a glass of wine in his hands he sat and waited.

A thump, which made Spencer jump... a sound from somewhere distant... then the lights went out and a blast of stinking hot air swept through the apartment.

'It's just me.' It was Floyd's voice. He sounded tired. For a moment Spencer didn't move and then he placed the wine glass on the side table and turned to where the voice came from.

'Is everything ready?' Spencer asked the darkness.

'For sure.' This time the voice was closer. 'Sam is waiting.'

Now Spencer got to his feet? 'Sam?' He didn't want Sam here! He'd be very happy if he never saw him again. 'Here?'

'Sit down... just sit will you. It's been a long... a long night and I'm knackered. Sam's not here. He's dead.'

Spencer sat down again slowly. Dead. Floyd said that would be so. Why was he surprised? Why was he feeling shocked? What was this gut wrenching pain he was suddenly feeling and why were there tears suddenly running down his face. A finger touched him just below the eye, wiped at the wetness and then Floyd moved away again.

'Floyd...'

'I didn't touch him. They'll find him eventually. Maybe not today... or this week even, but they will find him. Probably. I stayed with him until it was over. He lasted longer than Levin did. It was slow and possibly painful. He had a broken neck. Maybe he felt nothing. But it's done and I was with him to ensure his passage. Now... your turn.'

'Passage.' Spencer said the word. Let it roll around in his mouth a while. 'Floyd – I need to ask you something.'

'I'm listening... a letter to mummy? How sweet. You want this to look like suicide or murder? Either is fine. Make a choice.'

'Floyd...'

'We could make it look like a robbery, maybe? Or a lover getting over frisky? I could rape you with a table leg; could do that anyway if you want... that would give Agent Aaron Hotchner something to think about when he looked at the photos. What do you think?'

'Floyd...'

'Or you could go onto the roof and jump.'

'Floyd! You said you'd listen and you're not. Please, listen.'

'I'm listening, Babes. You sound worried. But you did say you'd die for me, didn't you? I can't see the problem. Is that how you want to be found dressed? Got anything kinky on under there?'

'No! Listen to me!'

'I'm listening.'

'When I die... when I'm dead... will you be – will you mutilate me?' The words were a whisper but oddly his brain was allowing him to speak properly today.

'If you want.' There was a _huff_ sound as Floyd sat on the couch. 'Is that what you want?'

'No! No... I don't. I wondered if it was necessary.'

'Ah.' Floyd picked up Spencer's wine glass and drank the contents. 'No... not necessary. You are one of the two who – erm – brought me back, so in that respect I have part of you in me. As I do Sam... who I didn't touch... as I said. I have something for you.' A bag was dropped onto Spencer's lap. 'Now I'm leaving you for an hour. Take what is needed from the bag. Put the rest in the drawer next to the bed... along with the sex toys and lube... then bring the rest and leave it in here. Write a goodbye note if you've not done so already... I'll be back. I promise. Don't do anything else until I return... promise me.'

'I promise.' Spencer rattled the bag. 'Leave what I need here and put the rest in the drawer by the bed.'

'Good boy. And don't forget the note.'

'And a note.'

'Then if you do exactly what I've asked, I'll let you see what you're dying for.' There was another rush of hot air and the lights sprang back on again. The apartment now stank of hot metal and old dirt, but Spencer didn't really take much notice of that. He stared down at the brown bag in his lap, picked it up and without opening the top he knew what was inside. With a sigh he tipped everything out onto the table and looked down at four phials of something, a band to tie around his arm and a few needles. He winced as he looked at it sitting there and slowly got up and took the things to the bedroom, leaving behind one of everything. He opened the bedside drawer and looked in at the toys he used with Floyd or alone – recently alone and again he winced... rolled the things around in his hand and then dropped it into the drawer. They tumbled amongst the litter of half used bottles of things and objects which would put a blush on most men's faces and slammed the drawer shut again. He sat on the edge on the bed he'd stripped off earlier and wondered what the hell had happened to his life. He'd lost everyone and everything. No one stuck around. No one was allowed to. Floyd saw to that. The only person left alive who he truly loved was his mother and she hardly knew who he was now. He thought about the books Floyd had arranged to be delivered. They'd have nowhere to go now. They'd sit in the lock up for fifty odd years and then be sold to some collector. That brought the sting of tears at the back of Spencer's eyes. One of the most thoughtful things Floyd had ever done – apart from arranging his death so smoothly – was going to be forgotten then sold off. He wiped at his eyes and went back to the lounge, sitting at the desk now, he had a letter to write. He wanted to ask for forgiveness for being such a coward as to take his own life, but that wasn't true. He wasn't being a coward. He needed to be with Floyd. He had to do this to move on and that was maybe stupid but not cowardly. He sat as the clock ticked away the hour, staring at the bit of white paper and the fountain pen in his hand and in the end he just wrote _Goodbye_ and then his name and the date. There didn't seem to be anything else to say. Apologise to Dave and Aaron? No... no need. They'd be angry, might even be sad, but had they believed him... even when he'd lied... if they'd told him that it was OK to be what he was – whatever that was – then maybe, but no... no need. A simple goodbye was more than enough. He put the pen down on the paper so it'd not be missed and walked back to his chair where he sat for the next half an hour waiting.

If Floyd didn't return – what then? Do it anyway? He would. He'd had enough now. If Floyd was just his imagination – if he'd gone mad... if none of this was real, then what sort of a life would that be? He'd be locked away and told what they wanted him to believe... they'd try to take all he had left away from him and that was something Spencer couldn't have happen.

He looked at the phial on the table, laying on its side and wondered if he'd gone out and bought it himself and his own insanity had made up the story about Floyd. He prodded it with a finger. There was more than one dose available here... very much so. He picked it up and looked at it, sniffed at the small bottle... picked up the needle and looked at the plastic covering and was about to put them back down again when again that waft of warm air and the lights went out. Either his mind had snapped or Floyd was back.

'Are you ready, Babes?' Spencer felt a hand touch his shoulder. 'Did you write the note?'

'Floyd, are you real? Have I gone mad?'

'Totally bonkers sweet thing. Go lay on the couch. Here.' Floyd's hand took Spencer's and in the pitch blackness he was guided to the couch. 'Lay down.'

'Floyd... you can see in this darkness?'

'I can see perfectly well. You look lovely. Lay back and relax.' Floyd shoved him onto the couch. 'You put the other things away?'

'In the drawer. And yes, I wrote a note.'

'Good... now you're going to have to do this yourself or some bastard will note something odd. A knot done back to front or a needle at the wrong angle... and for this reason I'm going to put the lights back on again. Second thoughts?' Floyd asked.

'No... I just wonder... you know... if you're just a voice in my head or if you're real. Either way – well one way it won't matter and the other I'll be with you? I will?'

'You will.'

Spencer heard Floyd sit down in the chair. 'I'm ready.'

'Good.' A click of the fingers and the lounge lights flicked back to life.

Spencer lay on the couch still clutching the phial in his hand but he was staring at Floyd. 'Dear god.' He moaned. 'Now I know this isn't my imagination.' He picked up the band and twisted it around his arm. 'You look stunning. Why hide from me. I thought you'd be some monster...'

'I _am_ some monster. Now kill yourself and stop talking. I would help but I need your fingerprints on everything and not mine. Not that they'd be able to trace me, but we need no doubts here. I don't want fingers pointing at me for something I've not done. This is you... your choice. Your decision. I'm just a casual observer.'

A choice. He was sure that if he refused, Floyd would kill him anyway. This way he had a small bit of control? At least that's what he wanted to think. His decision. His choice. No coercion. Spencer tore the needle from the packaging and drew up a full syringe of what he assumed to be heroin. 'This will kill me?'

'Fuck... yeah... I hope so! That will kill a fucking army. Hurry.'

'A kiss?'

'Soon... soon, Babes... just do it will you, before I get all soft hearted and tell you that you don't have to and I was just fucking with you all along... quickly.'

Floyd moved once Spencer had done what had been asked... or rather what he'd been told to do. Proving he'd die for him... rather sweet. Floyd thought it was sweet. He sat on the edge of the coffee table and watched the convulsions. It was beautiful. Spencer had bitten his tongue and there was blood in with the foam dripping down the side of his face. Floyd leaned in quickly and breathed over Spencer's slightly open mouth. 'See you in hell, Babes.'

It didn't take long. But the finished result was fantastic. Spencer's eyes were open, the arm with the needle still in it was dangling down, his fingers touching the floor. His hair was damp with sweat. His lips, were pale blue and the darkness under his eyes had increased. Spencer's Tshirt was slightly rucked up at the side showing the curve above his hips and the pale skin just below his ribs. He was quite a fabulous corpse. Floyd stayed with him until daylight. That would have been more than enough time for him to have made the transition. Now all he had to do was go home and collect his gang of very pretty boys and drag them through hell to gain his pardon. He took Spencer's right hand in his and squeezed gently. 'With me...' He whispered.

Such larks they'd have.

Such fun.

The corpse someone found at the side of the road had not been there long. The crime scene was protected by a white fabric construction. People with cameras took photos of the side of the road and put little yellow markers down. The body was photographed and one poor chap had to climb down into the ditch, which was not too deep, just under four foot, and carefully, with his gloves on took more photos. As the body was laying on its front with jeans around his knees they thought it could have been maybe two things... someone taking a rest break at the side of the road got hit by a car, or a sexual attack. For now it could have been either. It was after the body was lifted and they could see the definite marks on his face, that they guessed this was no accident.

Tests showed a few things. His stomach had very little in it... He'd not eaten in a while. He had a broken jaw, his front teeth had been shattered, his neck was broken... his skull fractured. He had a massive bleed on the brain, but he'd actually drowned in the dirty water at the bottom of the ditch. He was sexually active... had syphilis, but they didn't think he'd been raped. Nice boy. He also had a small wallet in his back pocket. Inside there were a few photographs and someone's business card. Someone called Levin Lopez. The three photos turned out to be of Levin too. There were a few coins in change and nothing else. There was no actual ID. They decided to contact Mr Lopez. For now he was their only suspect...

Sam sat on a bench in the stinking heat. The bench was on a platform in a tunnel. The tunnel was curved at the top and covered in tiles which made up swirling patterns enough to make even the most sane person lose his mind. Sam was still wearing the dirty jeans he'd died in. He was still without shoes... and now no Tshirt. He felt damp and sweaty and he could definitely smell himself. Dirty ditch water and piss. He could taste blood in his mouth... and his teeth were jagged and broken. His nose hurt and he got swimmy in the head when he tried to turn his neck.

Someone was crying, but he was ignoring that. He had enough problems of his own.

A distorted voice echoed over a tannoy system. He couldn't make out what it was saying, but for a minute it repeated the same thing over and over again. The crying sound stopped.

Sam leaned back and rested his head on the cold tiles behind him. It didn't hurt quite so much when he did that. Not like when he tried to turn it left or right and it felt as though he was screwing his head off. He let out a sigh... and that seemed to start to crying again. Sam closed his eyes. Floyd would come... he knew Floyd would come for him. But how long would he have to wait?

The remains of Levin Lopez where discovered the day after they found Sam in the ditch. There was no doubt though that Levin had been murdered. You don't pack yourself up and put yourself in plastic bags in the freezer by accident.

There was a lot of shocked faces at Levin's lovely apartment. Three hardened CSI's had to leave to be sick in private and away from the scene. Levin's head was found in a green bucket in a cupboard in the lounge. There were also jugs of blood in the fridge. Long bones on the kitchen counters (lovely black marble). The bones had been split and the marrow removed. They found the stomach in the washing machine... some other bits in the dishwasher and in the hot tub were a pair of eyes. There was blood splattered on the ceiling and in browning splats on the corridor walls... fingers in the knife drawer. Toes with the nails torn off sitting on the shelf next to the TV. They'd been chewed. Rib bones scattered around the bedroom... also had human teeth marks in them. Genitals were in the underwear drawer. Skin was found carefully removed and rolled up between strips of plastic and stored in the vegetable tray in the fridge.

They searched the place, taking everything they could find. The only parts of Levin they didn't locate were his toenails, his heart and his liver.

In a back room which was accessed through the second elevator door was a photography studio and a small and seedy home cinema. Mr Lopez had a massive collection of porn... he also had a good collection of photos of the person who had been found in the ditch. The trouble was, that Levin had been dead longer than Sam had... So Mr Lopez couldn't have killed him. They also found in Levin's cell phone, the phone number for Spencer Reid. It was there that they went to next... and there that wrong assumptions began to be made.

Levin sat on the platform in the tunnel. He was wearing one of his long leather coats in dark red. It was rich in fancy embroidery with beading around the collar and on the end of the sleeves. He was hot and frankly, terrified. The last thing he could remember before ending up here was seeing Sam sitting across him pressing the knife into his chest. There was nothing after that. He'd been alone here at first and had walked up and down the dimly lit platform which disappeared into the distance at each end. There was no exit apart from the actual tunnel which had one set of silvery coloured tracks snaking away into the darkness. He'd decided that climbing down and walking along them until he found something was ridiculous. There was not one part of him that thought it was a good idea, so he sat... fiddled and waited.

A muffled whining sound... Levin thought a train was arriving at first, but it was another person. He didn't go and see who it was. Courage failed. He emptied his bladder instead and sat in a pool of piss and shook and cried. There was nothing else to do. He released snot and tears until the tannoy system started babbling something. It shocked him out of the cycle he was in, and he sat and listened, but couldn't make out what was being said. It didn't sound like a language he'd ever heard. It stopped after about a minute and the tears quickly came back again. Once or twice he glanced at the shadowy figure sitting nearly at the other end of the platform. All the time it stayed where it was and didn't bother him, Levin was happy; well as happy as a dead man can be anyway. He wanted to move... sit further down the bench he was on. It was getting uncomfortable. He wanted to take his coat off... but stayed still... and almost motionless sitting in a puddle of his own stink and willing whoever or whatever that was further down... to stay... or go away, but not to come closer. Please just go away. Leave me alone.

They found Spencer exactly how Floyd had left him. His lips a bit bluer, the sweat had dried out. His fingers gently curled as they met the floor. They said he'd been there for about twenty four hours. He was an ex FED so of course other people got involved. Hotch went and identified him and stood in the autopsy room looking at the dead face which belonged to the body covered with a simple white sheet. Hotch was angry. He was more than angry he was beside himself with fury. How dare Spencer do something like this! After everything he'd been through! Why do this? Floyd had to be involved in some way. Hotch wouldn't believe that Floyd was dead. This must have been him... and now Spencer was connected with Levin who was connected with Sam... and it seemed that Spencer was the most recent death of the three of them and oddly the least damaged. A massive drug overdose, they told him. No signs of violence. To the man standing there in the white lab coat this was just an ordinary junky death.

'Check everything. Then check it all again. He wouldn't have done this.'

The man in the lab coat nodded. 'There's nothing left to check. I would tell you if there was something odd here, but there isn't. He's typical of the type. He's underweight... he has a lot of evidence of drug abuse... his arms... between his toes, other places. He was a long term user. I'm surprised this hasn't happened sooner, though I will say that this had to be purposeful. No one with this much experience would have made an error like that. There's no sign anywhere that he's been forced. There are scrape marks on his back and a small mark under his chin. He's sexually active... but hadn't been raped... if that's your thought?'

'I had not thought other than he wouldn't have done this. Are you sure? I mean very sure that someone else didn't inject him? That he was conscious when he was drugged?'

The man looked over the table at Hotch. 'I understand that you want a reason, but all I have is the evidence here.' He gestured at Spencer and then pulled the sheet up over his face. 'We are doing tests on the hair. We've done blood tests. It was a heroin overdose. That's all I can tell you.'

'And the scrapes on his back? The bruising?'

'Minor. A few days old. Maybe from falling from a chair or such? I can't tell you how. I can only tell you what the tests show. There will be more tests. I can tell you more when... well when my examination is complete.'

'Yes... ' Hotch looked at the white sheet again and then walked from the room. He needed to get out and fill his lungs with fresh air, but firstly he needed to talk to the team who were investigating what Hotch saw as murder.

'It was suicide.' Hotch was then told. 'He left a note. There's nothing suspicious. There were more drugs in the bedroom... a couple of sets of prints... mainly Dr Reid's, and a known drug dealer from the east of the city. No one else. There is nothing more to say. It wasn't murder.'

Closing it? Closing the case? No... 'No... no it was murder.' Hotch hissed at them. 'Reid wouldn't have done this.'

'Evidence seems to say otherwise, Agent Hotchner. We will of course check his stomach contents. There is nothing else to check... apart from historical evidence of drug use which will show in the hair. We will have to wait for that. I'm not expecting any surprises.'

There was a few seconds of intense pain and then Spencer felt as though he was falling, slipping sideways off the world and into somewhere else. A hand grasped his and held tightly and as he fell and slipped and slid a voice spoke to him, but the words were whipped away in the wind which had picked up. A hot metallic wind which snatched at his hair and tried to force itself into his lungs. Spencer took a few gasping breaths and held onto the hand holding his. He thought that he should be afraid. He should be screaming. He should be struggling, but he knew the hand holding his. He knew the way it gripped too tightly and the way the thumb massaged his hand. All the time he was with Floyd there was nothing that could go wrong. He was safe. Finally... not even knowing where he was going to end up, he was with Floyd and that was all that mattered to him now. Just the two of them at last. Even if he fell for an eternity that wouldn't matter. Not now. Spencer had not felt this free and sure of everything since that first ride on the back of Floyd's bike. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to explain to the darkness that it could leave now. He had everything he'd ever wanted. Floyd had chosen him... _him_! It made his heart pound like a silly school boy. It made the blood rush to awkward places. It made his flesh tingle and his eyes water...

'Nearly there.' A voice in his ear.

He wanted to ask where, but he couldn't form the right words. He didn't want to arrive anywhere. He didn't want to be nearly there. He never wanted this feeling to finish.

But it did.

Of course it did... and all of those happy thoughts left him with a howling cry as he stood on the platform and looked around... and saw that they were no longer alone. He wanted to ask if Floyd had brought them here too. Had he held their hands and guided them to this strange place, but the very idea that he'd done that to Levin... Levin! Levin of all the people! Why him? Why that strange creature.

'He's The Seraphim.' Floyd seemed to know what Spencer was thinking. 'Where else would I send him?'

'A Seraph?' Spencer found himself asking.

For a short moment, Floyd was silent, as though considering a reply. 'The Seraphim is in a respect a bit of a jape. He's a cowardly fraudster. He claims... or actually I doubt if he's going to claim very much at all now. Memories have a habit of slipping away, but he once claimed to have the ear of the gods. Or a god. In a small village called Beyegva – actually it was just outside the village... a tiny place consisting of one small road and a few buildings, Levin Vasilev pretended to be what he wasn't. They found him guilty of fraud and they beat him bloody and set fire to him. It was after that the name Seraphim started to be used. Of course the pretty young Russian boy died... but that was hundreds of years ago. Creatures walk the earth... they might not be noticed, but sometimes they are. Others can see beyond the disguise. Not that Levin even attempted to disguise the fact that he was what he was.'

Spencer turned to look at the rocking sobbing form sitting on the bench. 'He's not a natural creature. He seemed to float. He seemed... wrong.'

'He's... he's... Blindingly stupid. That's all I can say. He's been killed so many times for crimes against the gods that it would make your head spin. Me? I've been fatally slaughtered only a few times. Levin there... he wins the fuck up award... Don't trust him, Spencer.'

'Then you won't mind me asking what the hell he's doing here? I guess that this is your idea?'

'Sam... now I have a soft spot for him. I remember the day I first looked into those dark eyes like it was only yesterday. Sam... Sam can't be trusted either, but he's useful. He can twist time... sometimes he can even get it right. He'll do as he's told, but needs to be kept on a short leash. Levin will do as he's told because he doesn't have the bottle to do otherwise. I'll use him for trade if necessary. He's nothing. But I warn you, Spencer, die down here and that's it. I'll have to go and find a new kid to train and groom... and I'm getting too old for all of that. So we _are_ going to get along. And you _are_ going to put up with this shit, because you and Sam wanted me back... well I'm back. This is what you got.'

'But...' Spencer was going to complain again. Moan like a child that he wanted Floyd to himself. 'I'm in hell.' He said... because he was stumped for anything else.

'Don't worry... it can be a nice place. You'll see. You might even like it here.'

'And if I don't?'

'Then you're going to be a miserable bitch and that would make me unhappy... I have no intention of staying here, Spence. We'll get out... might be some time though... and the chances of Levin making it very far are slim... so don't form a bond with the little shit. He's not worth it.'

'Oh.' Spencer sighed... just as a flow of hot air rushed down the tunnel, buffeting him and almost knocking him off his feet... and the tannoy started up again.

'What's going on?' Spencer grabbed hold of Floyd, thinking that he was going to get swept away down the tunnel.

'With me.'

Floyd pulled Spencer reluctantly behind him as he marched quickly down the platform towards Sam. He pushed Spencer down to sit and instructed him to keep his mouth shut and sit still. Spencer nodded and Sam hissed between his broken teeth as Floyd walked on in the direction of Levin who had his hands over his ears, still rocking back and forth on the metal bench.

'Great.' Sam said over the racket coming out of the walls. 'Just when I think I've lost everything and my life has turned to shit... you turn up to confirm it.'

'This is all to do with what we did in the cemetery.' Spencer replied in a accusatory tone.

'And you'd rather we left him?' Sam's eyes darted in Spencer's direction, but his head stayed resting on the wall tiles. 'It seems that what we did didn't work quite as I'd hoped. Nothing ever does. Everything I do turns shitty. You know, just once, I'd like things to work out properly. For you to disappear and for me and Floyd to be on our own.'

Spencer made a small sound... he was thinking the same thing. 'How did you end up here?'

'I fucked up and got myself killed by some fucking pervert. What about you?'

'Same.' Spencer replied. He didn't want to tell Sam that he'd actually chosen to do this. The most ridiculous thing he'd done... one of the most... At least it came in the top ten of stupid things he'd done when his hormones were controlling his ability to think straight. They could both hear Levin shouting something and Floyd shouting something back, but the wind from the tunnel was growing stronger, blowing words away, and the tannoy was still blaring something neither of them understood... and now there was an odd screeching and rumbling sound. Spencer assumed rightly that a train was arriving.

'Levin was too.' Sam said and that put a bit of a smirk on Spencer's lips. 'Do you know what Floyd has got planned?'

Spencer shook his head and started to stand up, but Sam grabbed at his hand and pulled him back down again. 'I'm going to see what's going on.' Spencer told him.

'No... don't leave me here. I hate you. I really fucking hate you. You are the most annoying cunt I've ever met, but I'd rather the company of a cunt than no one and Floyd said to wait.'

So for a few seconds longer they sat holding hands and listening to Levin howling... but it didn't sound like anger to Spencer. It sounded to him like the cry of someone terrified. Sam seemed to know where he was... Spencer was able to accept what was thrown at him, however weird it was. Levin was in a panic. Spencer wondered if Floyd would just throw him in front of the train... and he wondered if he... Spencer... would feel any sorry or horror if it happened. He felt stripped of all emotion. He didn't think anything would scare him or surprise him again. He sighed and squeezed Sam's hand. 'I'll wait. But not because I like you.' He told Sam.

'Thanks.' And Sam let out a shuddering sob.

Floyd was dragging a reluctant Levin behind him... actually dragging him by an arm as Levin kicked and howled and lashed out with his free hand, as the train arrived. Call it a train... it's the nearest Spencer could compare it with. The engine was a huge green cylinder with a fan attached to the front. There was a chimney bellowing out smoke and a small opening which looked like a window near the back. The thing filled most of the tunnel, but behind it there were six carriages... open topped and big enough for each to carry about ten people. The carriages were dull metal and as it clanged and scraped to a halt, Floyd dragged Levin to one of them, picked him up and threw him inside. He then motioned for Spencer and Sam to join him.

Sam seemed to know what to do, but he was moving slowly and holding his head with one hand. He pulled down a small door way which clattered onto the tiled floor of the platform, making a small bridge for them to walk over and into the carriage which Levin was already trying to climb back out of. Spencer climbed in, Sam followed and Floyd bounced from the platform not bothering to use the doorway, but landed firmly on Levin who cried out and struggled until he realised that Floyd wasn't going to let him up. Sam pulled the doorway back into place and the small train screeched back into action as they sat down on the floor of the carriage.

Now Floyd spoke to the three of them as he moved off Levin to sit beside Spencer. 'None of us are happy with this situation, but this is where we are and this is what we need to deal with. I'm not going to put up with childish complaints and moaning. You're going to do exactly what I tell you or I will finish you here. Is that all understood? Levin... put this on.' He threw some leg irons at him. 'Sam too.'

'What? Leg irons? I'm not wearing them!' Sam protested.

'What did I just tell you? You do it my way or it's not done at all. Put the fuckers on and stop complaining.'

'But that's not fair! I did what I needed to do and I got Spencer involved so he'd be part of it and what do I get in exchange? I get left to die in a fucking ditch and wear leg irons! You fucking bastard. Why are you so bloody horrible all the time? What is it that makes people want to be around you?'

'I don't want to be around him.' Levin muttered as he put the things around his ankles. 'I just don't want to be fed to the monsters. This is a nightmare. I'll wake up soon.' Though his lips didn't move and his face stayed emotionless, he sounded as though he actually meant that. 'I'll wake up, but I hope you lot don't.' He added.

Spencer didn't get leg irons... and then Sam frowned and noted what they were all wearing. 'Oh... I get to wear shitty fucking crap which I died in and Spencer's got nice jeans and Levin has his bloody leather shit on and he died in pyjamas so why isn't he in piss stained red silk? And why does he smell nice and why does Spencer smell of coconuts and I stink of shit, piss and old ditch water? And my neck hurts and you look lovely too... all dressed in weird breeches and that super lovely coat and I don't even get a fucking shirt to wear.'

Floyd leaned towards Sam and touched him on the foot. 'Put the damned things on and stop the whining or I'll knock those broken stumps of teeth right out of your bloody ungrateful face.'

'Ungrateful! What does that mean? I bloody died! I think I have a reason to be pissed off. I had everything. I had someone who loved me. I had a super place to live. I had every damned thing I could want and you took it all away from me because... because...'

'Because you stuck a knife in Levin's chest.' Floyd helped him out. 'You did it. Not me. I went back and sat with him until he was gone. I comforted him...'

'Hmm...' Levin sighed.

'… and then ate a bit... but Levin you're very sweet... very sweet... tempt me and I'll picnic on you again. Now... put those fucks on and do as you're told. You're my dog and you will learn to behave like one. Here.'

Sam snatched up the next thing thrown at him. 'A collar? You're fucking me!'

'I'm not... I've got Spencer for that.'

'But my neck is agony and this'll make it worse.'

'I can sort out your pain if you want.' Floyd went to his knees and leaned towards Sam. Smoke from the train's chimney billowed around his head making Levin start sneezing and coughing. Spencer sat with a hand covering his mouth and nose and Floyd put a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder... another on the top of his head. 'I'll cure you of all pain...' Floyd's hands twitched slightly and Sam let out a scream of...'

'NO! Please no!'

'Next time I hear you complain that your neck hurts, I'll fucking pull your head off. Get the collar on.'

And for a minute... maybe ten... or an hour or two... it was hard to tell. Spencer couldn't see much, just the odd flash of light came from somewhere, but otherwise it was complete darkness. Levin's eyes were red and puffy and Sam was sniffing and muttering under his breath. Floyd took the chance to rest a hand on Spencer's leg and give him a loving squeeze.

It was him Floyd wanted. Spencer was now sure of that. The only one not shouted at. The only one not in irons... the only one who chose the way he arrived... it sort of slipped Spencer's mind as Floyd's hand moved up his leg and stroked his inner thigh, that Floyd had told him to do this. He wondered if his body had been found yet; what they thought... did they feel guilty? He wasn't sure if he wanted them to or not. After all it was him who sent everyone away. It was him who refused to talk to people. It was him who had isolated himself from everyone... but still... they could have tried a bit harder couldn't they? Surely if a man was on the verge of suicide someone would have noticed? No... And all reasonable thoughts stopped as Floyd rubbed at him through the fabric of the black jeans he'd chosen to die in.

It was when the odd glimmer of light became more frequent and Spencer could actually see... albeit like in an old silent movie (except here right now, there was a lot of sound)... Sam and Levin were sitting as far apart from each other as possible, but they'd both done as asked. Sam's collar had a chain attached. The other end of it was wrapped around Floyd's left hand. The smoke was dying back, the flickering effect gradually left and the light grew brighter. Floyd turned to his companions as the train started to slow.

'If you want to survive this, then you will do what I say. Sam, Levin... even if you're spoken to you will remain silent. There is a great risk that I'll be forced to show how serious I am about what's going on and I hate to tell you this but the completion of my task means a fuck lot more to me than your lives. Levin... die down here and they will eat your sweet soul and you are damned forever. Do not forget that. Sam, this is your home. Death here will mean I will be able to pick you up again later, but death hurts and damages and you'll feel the results, so unless you want to end up crippled and without your skin, you'll do what is asked of you. Spencer, you will speak only if directly asked a question and you will attempt to keep your answers very short... yes or no... preferably. Sam and Spencer, you two went to the trouble to bring me back... but even I can't get what I want for free. There's always a price to be paid. I am in debt and I am going to pay it back... Levin... you are here for different reasons. This is not your home... and you'll never be able to go home. So make the most of life when you can. So...' The train chugged and squeaked into another station; a platform on either side, stretching out almost as far as they could see. There were doors, pillars, walkways and stairs... but no people. 'So …' Floyd continued. 'Just remember what I've said and we might make it through. At least one of us might and that person had best be me.' Floyd flashed them one of his smiles and now that the train was stationary he stood, pulling Sam grunting to his feet with him.

'But...' Sam started... and then shut up again when Floyd glared at him. At least he wasn't having to slap him before they'd even got off the train...

Now they stood on the cold tiled floor. Spencer stood to Floyd's right. Levin walked just behind Spencer and Sam trailed along on his chain behind Floyd. 'When we arrive you will all go to your knees and look at the floor. Sam, Levin... you will stay on your knees unless told to rise. Spencer, follow my lead. If I stand, you stand. And for us... just one knee... the left, will be correct. Keep your eyes down though. Try not to respond to anything. Sam... stop pulling now... or I'll tie you to a post and leave you here.'

'It's just...' But Sam didn't finish. Floyd tugged on the chain and Sam let out a yelp of pain as he was propelled forwards by his sore neck. Floyd spun on Sam and spoke to him so closely that their lips touched.

'No more talking. I don't want to have to prove anything to these creatures and you're making it appear that I have no control over you. As it is I don't want to have you in chains and collar, but that's the only way you're ever going to start to listen to me. Keep your fucking mouth shut or I'll have you gagged. Probably with your own cock. Now shut the fuck up and try to live more than a few minutes.'

Floyd glanced at Levin who was crouched down rubbing at his ankles. The creature was so weak that already it was hurting his precious skin. Floyd thought to say something to him too, but somehow he thought for now, at least, Levin was going to do as he was told... out of fear mostly. Sam though... Sam was going to be trouble... Floyd turned again to look at a flight of white stone steps which seemed to disappear up into the ceiling.

Sam counted two hundred steps before they reached the top, but he'd lost his place occasionally and wasn't actually sure... he thought it was rather more than that. Levin counted five, slipped, knocked his shins on the edge of the white stone and gave up trying to do anything but walk with a stupidly short bit of chain between his leg irons. Spencer didn't count. He guessed two hundred and fifty and was correct. Floyd had never bothered to count them before and didn't now. He was thinking of all the thing which could go wrong when they arrived at where they were going to. He concentrated on willing Sam to be quiet and for Levin not to fall and break his stupid neck. It would be a shame, as he was such a pretty thing.

They were greeted at the top of the stairs, which opened onto a big square landing, by a man with a bent back, a pair of green shorts and an extra head growing upside down out of his stomach. Floyd let got of Spencer's hand and fisted his forehead and both heads nodded back... the stomach one swaying side to side as well... both heads had long greasy brown hair. The hair of the lower head almost touched the floor.

'He's in a good mood.' The stomach head said. 'It might be your lucky day.' And gestured at a distant door. Floyd didn't reply and nodded again and walked off towards the door, grabbing hold of Spencer again in what Spencer might have thought a loving gesture, but no... it was more of a possessiveness causing him to do it. Let everyone see who this person belonged to.

The doors were made of bone. They were about ten foot high and each of the double doors was about five foot wide. Spencer could see bits of arm bone, hands, skulls... leg bone, rib... all parts which seemed to be welded together with something... or melted together maybe. It was hideous and mystical... The sort of thing you'd see in an old horror movie. Over the top in its grossness. And perhaps a warning to anyone who walked through them. Sam hissed between his broken teeth and Levin felt like his bowels were going to open in terror... but the doors opened as though by magic to reveal what was the other side.

It was the size of a cathedral. That at least was Spencer's first thought. The room beyond the bone doors was excessively huge and magnificent. And noisy. There were fluted columns, overly fancy domed ceiling with every sort of art imaginable painted on it... none of it very comforting. There was gold paint or maybe it was real gold, touching most everything he could see. Lights twinkled from lanterns dangling from chains... thousands of them causing the room to have an odd golden glow to it. He couldn't see windows and he couldn't see the floor. Maybe there were no windows... but the floor was unseen because of the many hundreds of people... oh people was a very loose interpretation which Spencer's brain made up. They didn't all look like people. Not as you'd think of them... but there were certainly hundreds of them and they all swivelled around and stared at the four of them standing in the doorway. And silence... Not a mutter...

Then someone coughed. But before that happened Spencer was able to look across the barrage of people standing there... some were short... maybe only two foot tall, but they weren't children. They looked more like very short and fierce elves with long pointed ears and long pointed nails on hands and feet... too many fingers and toes... and no clothing or genitals. Their skin was pale blue and they didn't look as though they were there there to have a party. Small daggers hung from slim silver coloured belts which hung at hip level. Their eyes were huge and took up most of their faces and mouths tiny and on right there on the tip of their pointed chins. Spencer's head span... then locked into place. He wasn't going to be freaked out by some creatures he could just kick out of the way. However, these little things were not the only sorts of weird things here. There were creatures who had they been standing upright would have been nine or ten foot tall, but they were bent over, their hands resting on the floor on horribly long arms which had too many elbows. They had no hair but things like worms which wriggled and writhed grew out of their heads... these massive monsters had tiny little piggy eyes which blinked constantly. Spencer thought they should swap eyes with the little blue things. It would look better.

There were some who looked to be more human though. Some stood pale and naked... some were dark as night... some had on fancy gowns and tight corsets and some were in clothing much like Floyd had on. And there were others... other things with wings, things with horns... things with a face made of eyes... or just a mouth and no eyes... or too many heads, like the one they'd seen outside and they had all turned and were all staring at these four who were trying not to stare back. Spencer could hear Levin was sobbing, Sam was taking lots of little short breaths and Floyd took a step forward. The crowd took a step back; smaller creatures pushing back behind the larger ones with eyes which seemed to have grown even bigger. When a voice suddenly boomed, Levin sighed a soft sound and fell on his face in a faint, Sam twitched and sidled closer to Floyd and Spencer blinked and squeezed Floyd's hand tighter.

'Make room for our guests.' The voice bellowed and echoed around the huge room. Someone giggled, someone let out a low growl, but the things standing in front of them moved to the side to give them space to walk forwards. Firstly, Floyd let go of Spencer, took a few steps towards Levin and grabbed the chain between his ankles and dragged him around. Then the four of them slowly made their way forwards, with Levin now making little keening sounds.

The things parted in front of them, and closed again behind their backs so they walked in a bubble of monster free space through the mostly silent crowd. Whoever had called out didn't speak again for now... but there was still the odd titter or growl to be heard from further back in the crowd.

A helpful man, who was dressed in knee breeches, fancy shoes and a frock coat stepped forwards.

'Let me take your baggage.' He put a grey coloured hand out in front of Floyd.

'Touch me and you'll regret it.' Floyd snapped back at him. The man moved again back into the crowd. No one else offered to drag Levin for him. No one else that stupid or brave.

Spencer could see the floor now though. It was made up of tiny little bits of coloured glass which seemed to show scenes of different sorts of creatures doing different sorts of things to each other. Once he'd figured out that it was a gigantic mosaic of a demonic orgy, he stopped trying to look and concentrated on the things which were encircling him. He wondered if this was how famous rock stars felt when the paparazzi was surrounding them. It put a twitch of a smile on his face, but seeing the wet nosed dog faced thing grinning at him, Spencer stopped with the small smile and closed his mind down completely for a while. It seemed easier to cope with the onslaught of weirdness if he did that.

Reid didn't notice at first that they'd stopped walking. It was Floyd grabbing his hand again which brought him back to where he was and again he was forced to accept where he was... not in his apartment where he very much would rather have been. Levin was on his knees. Sam too... and Floyd was dragging Spencer down likewise, but as instructed beforehand, Spencer went down to just the one knee and he kept his eyes downwards and really he'd like to have kept them there forever, never having to look at anything again other that the small blue swirl he was kneeling in front of. Floyd's hand tightened as the voice boomed again.

'Get up. Stop grovelling. You're like the plague, Flanders... always irritating... and always leave a mess behind you. Get up and look me in the damned eyes and tell me what you want of me this time.'

Floyd and Spencer got to their feet, though Spencer kept his eyes down, Floyd glared up at the monster of a man sitting of a massive stone throne. This man was about nine foot tall, muscles like twisted rope and was dressed in nothing but a loin cloth. His hair was wild, black and sticking out of his head in foot long cork screws. His face, hard, as though carved from stone was greyish black, like old iron... and his eyes were white as though blind. Next to him sat a female... just as tall and also just as muscular. Her breasts were pert and hard... her nipples seemed to be made of silver and her hair was straight and hanging over her dark grey shoulders. There was a slight snarl on her almost good looking face. The other side sat a boy... though still over six foot tall, he still had the almost not quite cooked look about him. Or maybe it was a slightly melted look. He was lithe and narrow... no muscles on display on that one, but the look of spite on his gun metal grey face was easy to see. Floyd looked at each of them and gave the salute of the fist on the forehead. Spencer stood staring at the woman's breasts, not quite able to take his eyes off them. Sam stayed on his knees and kept his eyes down. He already knew what was going to be there. He'd been here before and begged for his life, only to have it turned down. He didn't reckon his chances were going to be good. Tears and snot dripped from his face onto the floor between his hands. His legs ached from walking awkwardly up the stairs and his neck hurt like a son of a bitch, but there was nothing he could do now. Floyd had as good as thrown him into the fires of hell. Levin was also still on his hands and knees. He'd never been here before, but he'd heard the stories and he really wished he'd not. There were tears and snot falling from Levin's face too... and a goodly helping of vomit to add to it. A sudden warmth spread between his legs as his bladder let go again. He wasn't sure how that happened... how much piss can one man hold? A lot it seemed.

Floyd's voice seemed almost... maybe worried, as he spoke. 'Your Majesty – It would please me to talk to you in private.'

This brought on much laughter from the crowd behind him. The big man who seemed to be a king leaned forwards slightly... his strange hair wobbled and twisted as he moved. It almost seemed to have a life of its own. 'Silence you dogs!' He called at the crowd. 'And you, Flanders... you want something from me... ask.'

Floyd was grinding his teeth and his hand tightened on Spencer's. 'Your Majesty – I need but the name of one creature, so that I can continue my journey.'

'The name of the one who took your head?' The king asked.

'No – I know who took my head. I require the name of the one who took Hazar's head.'

'Hazar?' The king sat upright again and there was again some tittering going on in the crowd. The king looked over Floyd's head and asked for the room to be cleared. It seemed that Floyd was going to get his talk in private after all.

The room cleared slowly. There were a lot of them to leave through that one door of bone and down the steps. By the time the doors slammed shut again, Spencer had allowed his brain to close down. There was no need to try to understand things. He'd tried that in the past and it never really got him anywhere but mostly dead. This time he was going to just float along with Floyd and not resist anything.

Now there were the four of them and the three sitting on a raised dais on their thrones.

'You bring your rubbish with you.' The King spoke in a slightly lower voice this time, but it was still like a shout. Floyd didn't reply to this comment, but he pulled Spencer a bit closer to him.

'The Seraphim, an imp and a dead faggot... you keep strange companions.' A very high pitched voice belonged to who Spencer assumed was the queen. It was like dragging chalk down a blackboard. The sort of sound which made your teeth vibrate.

'The dead faggot is my mate.' Floyd said, but Spencer could still hear worry in his voice. 'The imp is my spawn and The Seraphim is my bargaining chip... or arrow fodder, whichever is needed first.'

The queen was about to speak again, but the giant of a king put his hand up to silence her.

'Your mate. You can prove you claim? Your spawn... again prove it... The Seraphim... whatever insane reason you thought you could bring that thing here was misplaced. And then you ask me for the name of the one who took the head of an Angel? You are more insane than previously assumed.'

'I see.' Floyd let go of Spencer and took a step forwards. 'You wish me to prove that is my spawn?' A click of the fingers and a jerk on the chain and Sam came scuttling forwards. 'This is my spawn. I'm not sure how you'd wish me to prove such a claim, other than why else would I bring it here with me? And how would you want me to prove that Spencer is my mate? I know you doubt my word...'

'Doubt it?' The voice boomed. 'I know what you are, Flanders, if that's what you choose to call yourself... I know you're not of this place and I know that you wish to return to your own. I also know that that is something which will never happen... Doesn't matter how many of us you kill... there will always be more of us and I don't think one whining little maggot is going to be able to destroy the whole of our world. No... that's not going to happen. You should go back to where you came from. You're not liked or wanted here, Flanders. You still have something about you...'

'Something very nasty.' The queen squealed... and the younger one barked like a dog for a few seconds... 'We don't like it.'

'You leak from your soul a presence which makes us uncomfortable.' The king spoke slowly as though to a fool. 'I will tell you something which you might not have thought of before. Where you come from, Flanders, things are made of the purest of light and love. Fall from grace and you're expelled. As you did and as you were... but being less than pure does not a monster make. So what exactly happened to you to make you such a vile creature, who still carries that light in his soul. What sort of monster can carry that purity to a degree that it makes me feel ill to look at it and yet behave in a manner to make others think that you're one of us? What happened to you, Flanders? What turned you into this backstabbing, treacherous cunt?'

Floyd stepped back again, dragging Sam with him and grasped Spencer's hand. 'Other backstabbing treacherous cunts caused this outcome. I am what I am. I don't disguise it. I don't pretend to be something I'm not. All three of my companions are aware of what I'm capable of. Yet they are with me.'

'One of them because his mind has gone, one of them because you've got him in chains and a collar and The Seraphim... now that one interests me. I would have him... in exchange for the information you want.'

Floyd glanced at the useless lump of something on the floor and then turned back to the king sitting firmly on his stone chair. 'I'd rather keep him. He might be of some use once he's got over the surprise of ending up here. I'm not sure he's quite aware of what's going on yet, and letting him go just so you can throw him to your dogs is not on my agenda... it must be that bit of goodness you see in me which prevents me from doing that. But I have a good idea that you don't have the answer to my question anyway... and I'm loath to throw away something so very pretty for nothing. Maybe you'll accept the dog?'

'You'd keep The Seraphim and hand over your spawn?'

'Well I'm a bit of a shit like that, but yes. Have him. But first I want the name of the one who took the head of Hazar. Which I don't think you have, so really the whole conversation is moot. I will leave and find my answers somewhere else. I was wrong in the assumption that you knew everything.' Floyd pulled on Spencer and started to step backwards, dragging Sam with him and kicking out at Levin... 'Get up.' He hissed at him. 'Or stay here and die.'

The king didn't tell Floyd what he wanted to know. Sam wasn't handed over... and Spencer was so confused that he thought he was going to throw up. Those creatures could have squashed them like flies, yet they sat there howling and shouting... and not rising from their thrones. The king bellowed. The queen squealed and the prince – if that's what he was – barked like a dog, yet they didn't rise from where they were sitting or even look as though they were thinking about it. The four of them rushed through the bone door to see the place had emptied completely. Spencer was expecting to see milling crowds of madness, but the place was just a landing with steps going down and the man with the two heads standing there with a quizzical look on his faces.

'With out the free passage...' The lower head started to say. 'You'll get no further than the end of your prick. Have a care where you step and who you step upon.'

Spencer found he was staring at the lower head with its over inflated lips and crooked yellow teeth. But Floyd spoke to it. 'I never asked your opinion.'

'I opine when I feel. You can't just come here and make demands. You've upset him now. Heads will roll.'

'I can come and make demands. I just did make demands... and here I am... about to pull one of your heads off if you don't remove yourself from my sight now.'

'And the information you wanted... is there a price?'

'Of course there's a price.' Floyd pulled on Sam's lead... Levin was walking slowly but with a clanking of chains towards the stairway. 'But not from you.'

'But I might know.' Both faces pulled themselves into grins.

'Even if you did...' Floyd pushed the thing out of the way. 'We're leaving.'

'And you'll not see the end of your mission.' The creature hissed at Floyd's back. 'They might be in awe of you. They might say that they love you. They might cow and bend a knee to you, but they'll also tear you apart just to get to that bit of light. You... you and that Seraphim, both... You don't belong here Isgar! Go to your own hell! Go to your burned forests and dried up lakes! Stop trying to be what you're not!'

The voice echoed down the stairs and Spencer could feel Floyd's fingernails digging into his hand and he could hear Sam's whining and Levin's fear... Levin's fear was a very... surface thing. He didn't seem to be trying to pretend that he was anything but terrified. Spencer had listened to what had been said. He'd maybe not looked as though he was listening, but he had been. It was the visuals he was ignoring for now. He'd come to that later. Let it seep into his brain gradually. He'd speculate for a while. Use his imagination to attempt to make this a dream. Yet he knew, very well, that he'd taken drugs. He'd injected it into his arm. He'd felt the needle break his skin. He remembered that initial rush, so maybe that's all this was... Perhaps it was a crazy high. The most crazy of highs... Then again... maybe, it was real. That was going to have to wait. He was going to have to wait. Eventually he'd know if he was locked into a nightmare brought on my brain damage and drugs and too many smacks to the head... or if he'd died and been dragged down to hell by the only man he'd ever loved. He glanced across at Sam who was stumbling down the stairs and complaining that his neck hurt and then looked at Levin who was walking sideways down the stairs and clinging hold of the hand rail... finally he look at Floyd who happened to be looking right back at him.

'You've a million questions to ask. Ask before you explode.' Floyd told him.

'No... there's nothing.' Spencer replied and squeezed his hand. 'I would like to know why those giants didn't squash you to the mosaic flooring though.'

Floyd gave Spencer a smirk. 'We were out of range.'

'And had they stood?'

'Then I would have been in trouble, but they can't stand. Their arses are secured to the thrones they sit upon. We were safe all the time they didn't call someone to fill us with arrows... but they wouldn't have done that, because as they said... they revile me... yet they fucking shitting themselves with fear. I'm not one of this lot. Sam is... Sam will do OK here if he minds what he says and understands that if he gets in my way or threatens what I have to do... I will kill him. Levin has latent memories of this place. He's been here before, but can't place when or why. He just knows that this isn't where he wants to be, but he'll be of use. A distraction. All the time they're looking at Levin, they're not looking at you, or me.'

'And what exactly is it you have to do?'

'Kill someone. Find him. Kill him and take his head back to the people who sent me. Then and only then will my resurrection be complete and I'll be able to return.'

Spencer nodded. 'A hit... OK. You need to kill a... monster. And then you can return... what about me?'

Floyd looked confused. 'You?'

'I'm dead.' That sounded so strange to say... silly even. Ridiculous. 'So what about me. Do I go back too?'

'No... no, Babes... you're dead. Silly thing.' Floyd gave him a quick kiss on the side of the face. 'This is my resurrection plan. You have to make your own. Go begging for your life. But it's unlikely it'll be given. Suicides are such a wrangle to get around. They'll not let you return. Nope... Let's get going. Levin looks as though he's about to fall asleep there.'


	10. Chapter 10

How to Pay for Stuff

Tunnels and passages. That was the way they travelled now. The train was no longer available and Spencer was almost glad about that. He was not glad about what Floyd had said to him, but Sam was fussing and saying that he hurt and needed to rest. Levin had sunk into a strange sullen silence, and again had put on his expressionless face. Floyd was grasping Spencer's hand so tight and digging his nails in hard... Spencer thought he'd have crescent shaped indentations there for a week... if not small scabs. He'd tried a couple of times to pull away... twisting his hand as a child would do when trying to get out of the grasp of a parent. And that thought oddly, made Spencer grin. Not just a little smile, not a smirk, but a big grin. And though Floyd was walking next to him and looking at the gradually widening tunnel ahead of them, he still saw... Oh yes Floyd saw that smile and Floyd didn't much like it.

What with Sam's constant whining, Levin's clanking and inability to walk properly in his irons and now... and now this? It was too much. Floyd released Spencer's hand and dropped Sam's chain and he turned slowly and faced them all. The tunnel was about five foot wide and seemed to have no ceiling; the black stone walls just carried on up until they disappeared into the shadows. Lanterns hung along the walls, dripping what looked to be oil from the bottom of them. Floyd looked to each of this boys and then back to Spencer who had stopped grinning.

'I died a perfectly good death. I never asked for this shit. You decided to mess with things. This is the result of it. Sam... I lay all of this on your puny shoulders. This is your doing. If you'd let things be then I'd not have felt the undying need to send Levin a few memories... Yes, Levin, they were memories rather then nightmares and it's past time you opened you eyes and had a good look around you. These people will have your skin sooner than look at you. You're here under my protection... kindly remember that, because your fucking shitty attitude is beginning to make me want to hand you over for skinning... Spencer... I warned you once before about showing your teeth. It's a sign of aggression and I take it as one. He followed this up with a back hand across the side of Spencer's face. Spencer took a few steps to the side but the wall stopped him from falling. 'It's not acceptable. I won't be threatened by you or anyone. Wipe that blood off your mouth, you look like you've just had dinner. Sam go ahead and find us somewhere to sleep the night. The inns and winesinks are up there.' Floyd pointed in the direction they had been walking.

'I don't have any money.' Sam whined.

'Then pay with your mouth... go... get and do something of use. You owe me.'

'I owe you?' Sam spat back. 'I went through fucking hell getting you back again! How do I owe you?'

'Maybe because we're still in hell? Maybe because you're a stupid wank and did it wrong... I don't know! You will have to work that out for yourself. Levin, take the collar and put it on. I'll never keep you alive if you don't look like you belong to me. I wanted Spencer to wear it, but... well, I should have brought more collars with me, I guess. Sam... get moving! Run! Find somewhere for the next few hours.'

Sam shook his head, but was walking slowly in the direction Floyd had pointed. 'They will probably kill me.' Whining again. 'No one wants to put their cock in the mouth of someone with razor sharp shards in their mouth instead of teeth.'

'You'll figure something out. Get out of my sight before you become a splatter on the wall. I don't want to see you again until we have beds to sleep in. We'll wait here.' Floyd moved back now to lean against the wall. 'Levin, get your arse out of the middle of the road. Come and wrap those pretty lips around my aching penis.'

Levin was good at following orders. Spencer stood, trying not to look at the pretty blond man on his knees in front of Floyd. He didn't want to look at Floyd's hands on the top of Levin's head. He certainly didn't want to see that look on Floyd's face... that look which told Spencer that Levin was doing a pretty good job. Spencer wanted to watch where Sam had gone... half running and half skipping with the gradually fading sound of the chain between his legs... but his attention kept being drawn back to Floyd's hands, Levin's head... those twisting fingers, pulling at the hair so pale that in this strange light it looked almost white. Spencer's eyes drifted up to Floyd's face again and flinched as though he'd been hit again when he saw that Floyd was smirking and looking right back at him. Spencer wanted to feel disgusted. He wanted to pull Levin away and tell him that this display of loyalty – if that's what this was – was un-necessary, but no... Spencer didn't do that... and really he wasn't disgusted. It wasn't as though it was the first time Floyd had done this sort of thing... oh and more, much more, in front of him. It didn't disgust Spencer, but it hurt. It hurt like a clawed hand was holding his heart. He felt his face flush, his skin prickle... his breathing change to fast shallow intakes... and he felt his toes curl in his canvas boots.

Then it was over... almost too soon maybe? Floyd pushed Levin back onto his backside and stood there buttoning up his breeches again... still watching Spencer... still smirking. At last Spencer pulled his eyes away from Floyd, glanced at Levin and then stared off into the darkness.

'This is unlike... it's not... I've not been here before.' Spencer muttered. 'I thought hell was a black nothingness... a rubbery floor and...'

'Well just shows you that you don't know everything.' Floyd said as Levin scrambled to his feet and was instantly kicked back down by Floyd. Levin yelped and stayed there laying on the slightly lumpy dark floor. 'You can get up when I tell you to get up.' Floyd snapped at him. 'Why do you think you have any right to make a decision...?' Now Floyd looked in the direction Sam had gone. 'Everyone's hell is different, Spencer. The lower I fall... the lower I drag you with me... but I think Lev has been here before. Haven't you Lev?'

Levin looked up at Floyd with eyes which seemed to be silver in this light... silver eyes... silver hair... and that face which looked just a bit too perfect... 'Yes. I feel I have.' A quick pink tongue licked his lips... those lips which had been places they had no right being.

'So you see.' Floyd carried on. 'Levin is back here because this is his own personal hell.' He grabbed Spencer's hand. 'And you'll likely find that there's not one fucking book here... A truly hellish situation, no? You can get up now...' He gestured at Levin but was looking at Spencer as he spoke. 'My life started out really quite sparkly and nice. It got bad pretty quickly, but everything sparkly loses its glamour after a while. I had set out that day with the full intention of killing you. I was going to... I'll tell you... don't look so, what _is_ that expression you have on your face? Take it off and put another there, maybe an interested one? Anyway, I was going to push you against a tree – I had it planned... I was going to wrap my hands around your throat and choke you... to unconsciousness, not to death – I was going to fuck you as you struggled to wake... that would have been good, so damned good. All that wriggling and crying and struggling... heaven... or as close. Then I would have flipped you onto your back and after licking every inch of flesh I could reach, I was going to rip your heart from your chest, sit there and eat... the liver too... obviously... but I wanted the heart torn away when it was still beating. That would have been, but that fucking bastard spoiled my day and my quarry escaped... I wanted it to be special. Little River was special. I remember everything I did that day I killed him. Anthony was special too... very special... I wanted you to join them in my little book of wondrous memories, but that didn't happen. It was taken from me and I really don't like things being taken from me, Spencer.'

Spencer opened his mouth and closed it again. He scratched at his neck and fiddled with the hem of his Tshirt. 'It wasn't my fault.' Spencer tried to reason with him.

'Of course it's your fault! You started getting old! I don't fuck old men! If you'd not... if you could stay just as you are now, then I'd have been happy, but no! You have to age. But now I've fixed that and it wasn't me who did it. You did it yourself. You... No going back now. No second chances. You proved to me that you're either fucking stupid, gullible, or loyal. Not sure which, but not the former or the latter... maybe? Now we are here.'

Was this lecture leading somewhere? Spencer didn't know, and was saved from a reply by the distant clanking of Sam returning. He appeared out of the gloom and sniffing and blinking his coal dark eyes, told Floyd that they had somewhere.

'The Lost Buckle.' He told them. 'One room... one big bed. Food available. And I've given a deposit, but I think they'll want more. I was going to suggest Levin.'

'Me?' Levin whispered.

'Fucking The Seraphim will be worth a few nights for us.' Sam explained. 'Me being groped by something with wings and a man with orange hair... not so much...' Sam shrugged. 'But I enjoyed it.'

Spencer wanted to ask more questions now, but was being dragged along by his hand. Floyd picked up the chain, now attached to a collar around Levin's neck and Sam was slightly ahead, guiding the way. The silence was terrible though... Spencer felt he had to fill it with words of some sort.

'You know that lack of natural sunlight gives you a deficiency in vitamin D. How long will we be underground for, because...'

His vocal distraction from what was going on around him was broken off. 'Who said we were underground?' Floyd asked him.

'Well... hell...'

'Isn't underground.' Floyd almost laughed at the concept. 'Too many silly books. You think that the planet you lived on is hollow?'

'Well no, I know it's not.' Spencer agreed.

'Then where is this underground place you are talking of?'

'I'm... It's...'

'No... forget all of that shit. You're correct in thinking that where we are now has no natural sunlight, but we'll be here weeks at the most and then onwards and... out... You're such a crazy fool sometimes. I wonder if you're brain damaged.'

As they walked together, back to where Sam said he'd found a bed for the night, Spencer noticed that small alcoves where beginning to turn up in the side of the wall. Some were at ground level, but looking upwards he could see them scattered around at all levels. They didn't look natural to Spencer. They were too neat. They'd been dug out for some reason, but they were probably only big enough for him to squeeze into... and some were much smaller... a few larger ones, but not many. The few soon turned into something more and appeared to almost honeycomb the walls higher up, out of reach. They also walked around cloth covered lumps laying in in the greasy gutters... There were more lamps here, the light much better, but the lamps dripped vile oils onto the floors and made rainbow coloured puddles and small streams which ran down small grooves in the floor and off into what he assumed were drains. The place stank... The same sort of smell you'd get from a glue factory... boiled bones. He found he was rubbing at his nose trying to get the smell out.

'What are these things?' He pointed at one of the little hollows in the wall. 'And this.' He gestured at another rag covered lump.

'Graves.' Floyd told him.

'Food.' Sam said at the same time as Floyd.

'People come here to die.' Levin let him know.

'What happens after that is up to the person who finds the corpse. Some are left. Some are not. If you come here to die you do it through choice, so please get that look off your face.'

'Why would someone choose to die here?' Spencer stepped over a lump on the floor which must have been no bigger than a child, but he had to remind himself that there were small creatures here. Size wasn't an indication of age. Sam was a good example of that.

'It's as good a place as any.' Floyd pulled Spencer along faster as their feet slid in the slime and oil on the floor. 'Don't panic, I'm not about to leave you here. You are far too precious to me for that.' But there was so much sarcasm in that statement that it sounded very much like that was exactly what Floyd would do.

'I'm already dead.' Spencer tried to point out.

Levin let out a snort of a laugh. 'You think something so simple can stop you dying again. This is a place of pure rebirth. Sam stabbed me... I am also dead, but I don't think that makes it safe to be here.'

'For sure.' Sam laughed. 'You think this is bad? Wait until you die down here... then you'll know the real meaning of hell.'

There were things moving around here now though. Things which looked almost human to Spencer's eyes at least. They walked on two legs and had one head and that was in the correct place, though the amount of arms and legs varied as much as skin colour and what passed as hair, or feathers or scales in some cases. At least Spencer would know where to look if trying to converse with one of them. Not that he had any plans of talking to them. Some were dressed, some not... some seemed to be totally encased in metal... and a few of those had jewels encrusted in patterns on the chest. Size varied too... they seemed mainly again to pass as human in size but some were small, stunted and had horns growing out of their heads. He saw a couple with black leathery, bat like wings on their backs. No one made eye contact... They all seemed not to trust the next person, or creature walking next to them. They grunted, snarled... hissed... and on one occasion, Sam hissed back.

'The mother fucker.' Sam then muttered under his breath. It seemed they'd traded insults, but whatever they'd been, Spencer never found out. 'This is the place.' A low doorway with green paint in swirling patterns above it. There was a red glow coming from within and the tempting smells of cooking and ale. Even Spencer was ready to try this place out. There was also the twanging of a musical instrument.

It was a big room with rows of benches carved from stone. In the centre was a fire pit with some thing slowly cooking, hanging from a chain. Spencer had been feeling hungry until he saw what it was cooking there... it was certainly not the hog roast he'd thought he'd been smelling. The music stopped. The chatter stopped. Faces turned to look at the new comers. A strapping female with breasts hanging down to her waist – a sagging stomach – grey flesh, pale eyes and bald, but definitely a female. Her pale and sagging skin hung like wings under her arms as she lifted them and waved a huge six fingered hand at Sam.

'Sweet.' She called to him. 'You were good on your promise.'

These words were followed by raucous laughter which seemed to go in rounds throughout the room. 'Always.' Sam nodded and slid onto a small stone bench next to a table. 'Drinks?' He asked the woman.

'Pay up first, little one. Pay up.' She slobbered towards the table and smiled black stumped teeth at them all.

Floyd glared at Sam and then at the woman and then back at Sam. 'What exactly did he offer? What is your price?'

'For food and lodgings?' She smiled and seemed to be moving towards Floyd until she saw Levin standing there trying to be invisible. 'Oh... Sweet! Him.' She jabbed a finger at Levin. 'Four hours. That'll get what you want.'

Spencer wanted to protest but Floyd had slapped a hand on Spencer's groin, under the table. 'One hour. He's very precious. I can't be without him for longer than that.'

'Three... and I'll let you tickle me.'

'I don't want to tickle you.' Floyd snapped at her. 'Two... board and lodgings two nights.'

'Done.' She smiled.

'And don't touch his face. He's worth nothing dead or too damaged. If you hurt his face I'll strangle you with your tits.'

'Oh such a promise.' She put her hand out to Levin. 'With me, little one.'

Again Spencer wanted to say something. Surely Floyd wasn't paying for their food and bed by pimping out Levin! He had no love for the man, but this was wrong.

'Floyd!' Spencer hissed.

'You will be quiet, Babes... or you can be the one pleasuring her. Get going Lev... Get it over with.'

Levin stared with blank eyes at Floyd and gave a small nod. 'She'll kill me. I'll get sucked into her cunt and never be seen again.'

'I suggest you hang onto something then.' Floyd gave Levin a small salute and watched as the woman... if that's what she was, dragged Levin to a fate worse than death. 'Be thankful I didn't offer you.' Floyd said in Spencer's ear. 'He'll be fine. You'll see.'

Drinks were served out of a large pottery jug. It wasn't the sort of drink you could take down quickly. It was incredibly bitter, but that didn't seem to stop either Floyd or Sam from chugging the stuff back as though it were water. Spencer though sipped slowly, his eyes flicking from the thing in the middle of the room to the door Levin had gone through.

'What is that?' Spencer was looking at the roast. 'Is it what it looks to be?' What it looked to be in Spencer's mind was a roasted person... no head and the hands and feet were gone... it was wrapped in chains and every so often it was turned... juices dripped from the creature and spat and sizzled in the fire. Yet, though it looked like a man being cooked up, Spencer's brain refused to accept that. Even the smells... even that, and sadly Spencer knew what roasted flesh smelt like... but still his brain wouldn't accept that it was there.

'Dinner.' Floyd replied. 'You might want to have something else though.'

'It looks human.' Spencer whispered, though the noise in this tavern was building up again now that they'd got used to the strangers in their midst.

Floyd shrugged. 'Like I said... you might want to have something else. Not that eating the flesh of a human has ever upset you too much.' Floyd squeezed his leg just as the first screams from beyond the door filtered through.

Sam recognised it as Levin and turned quickly to look. Was that a look of concern on his face? Spencer wasn't too sure. Floyd was looking too... and listening to the long drawn out howl of agony.

'Do something?' Spencer said, half getting up from the stone bench.

'What exactly do you want me to do? This is no place to spoil for a fight, Spencer. You don't want to end up like him do you?' Indicating the roasting person.

The screams carried on... terror or pain... or both, but there was nothing nice going on beyond that door. 'You sent him in there.' Spencer told Floyd. 'Go and help him.'

Floyd shook his head. 'No. He's paying for our food and bed. Let him. It keeps us safe.'

'She's killing him!' Again Spencer went to stand and again Floyd pulled him back to sit again. 'I will go alone if you don't come with me.'

'You?' Sam laughed. 'Don't... For my life, Spencer... you say the funniest things at the worst times. Just sit and be happy that's not you. Some of those female things have teeth in their cunts. She's probably biting his cock off... Ah... food.' Sam cleared a place on the table as a small black thing of questionable gender put a bowl of something brown on the table and a dish of something which looked like bread.

'Don't eat that.' Floyd moved it away from Spencer. 'Eat this.' And handed him a chunk of gritty looking bread.

Sam was already dipping in his bread and sucking the brown juice out, letting it dribble down his chin and drip onto his bare chest.

And the howling and screaming died down slightly... whether that was good or bad, Spencer didn't know. He nibbled carefully at the edge of the bread... it was very gritty, as though it had been baked in sand. But it didn't taste too awful.

'Is Levin like you?' Spencer asked Floyd. 'Is he an angel?'

'Levin...' Floyd glanced at the door and then at Sam before dipping in his own bread and sucking out the brown. 'No... no he's not... he's from where I'm from though. He's a lesser being. Like a squire to a knight... a servant... a messenger. He fucked up almost as badly as I did. Was given another chance to redeem himself and continued to fuck up. Hence his unfortunate life.'

Another nibble at the bread and a sip of the drink. 'What did he do in Russia? Why did they burn him?'

'He offered them things he couldn't deliver. He told them he could stop the winter snow. He said if they fed him and housed him that he'd keep the snow away. He told them if they gave him their first born sons that he'd save them... save the child and save the village. He lied. Of course he lied. He fucked the boys... the ones of age... butchered the ones who were too young or too old and ugly and it still snowed. They broke into the place he was living and discovered their boys raped and hanging on hooks ready for him to eat during the winter. He was dragged out, tied to an old dead tree. They piled his things around him... his chair, clothing... his furs... his holy relics, and they set fire to the lot. He died in agony. He deserved it.'

'Why on earth? Why?'

'Because you're born in the light, doesn't mean you belong there. The Seraphim might look innocent and sweet, but he's gradually getting to be on a par with me. The only thing that stops him is youth. He's not been around so long. I will kill him. Pretty as he is... and he knows I will. This is why I can control him for now... just for now. It won't last. Don't turn your back on him. Sam did what came naturally to him when he felt threatened by Levin. I'm not saying he did the right thing... but I'm glad he did... now I'm glad he did. The Seraphim can only hide for so long. He'll show his true colours soon. Watch out for him Spencer.'

'Levin and The Seraphim are the same person?'

'As much as Floyd is Isgar.' Floyd told him. 'Depends on who you're talking to and what you want. Eat up and drink... I'm going to get me a hunk of what's cooking over the fire.'

This time it was Spencer who pulled Floyd back down to sit. 'Please, please don't.'

'Does it upset your sensitive nerves, Babes? You're going to have to get used to a lot of things. The sweet ale, the flesh of creatures you've never seen before. That thing over there is just food. That's all.'

'You know it's not.' Annoyance was in Spencer's voice now. 'You've sent Levin off the be tortured by some gross monster. You've let creatures grope Sam... and now you're going to take a step further than I can stomach. If you go over there, I'm leaving. I'm not staying here to watch you do that. I'll find my own way somewhere. I'm not going to sit here and watch you slice flesh of that which looks too much like it could be me.'

Floyd placed his hand over the one Spencer had gripping at his sleeve. He stroked the back of it gently... rubbing his thumb over the side of Spencer's fingers and then before Spencer knew what was happening, he was laying across the table, food bowl went flying, drinks were snatched up by Sam and Floyd had Spencer's arm up behind his back. There was a slight pause in the sad melody the man on the small harp was playing and then it started up again as Floyd leaned on Spencer and spoke harshly into his ear. 'Never tell me what to do. Never imply that what I've done isn't what should be done. I don't make errors. Levin is getting what he deserves and I'll eat what I fucking well want. You want to walk off and leave us, then do so... go... fuck off and see how far you get.'

'Not far.' Sam muttered. 'Can we have more broth?'

'You chose to be here. I'll protect you as long as you want it.'

'I never chose.' Spencer spat back at Floyd. The edge of the table was digging into his hip and it felt as though Floyd was about to pop his arm out of the shoulder. 'I chose to die. I didn't expect to come here.'

'You're not a nice person, Spencer. You're a tart... a bawd... a slag and a bit of a shit... That's why you're here. You're as cursed as I am... as Sam is... as Levin is... this is what you deserve. When I was rotting, where were you?'

'You... Get off me!' Spencer wriggled and kicked back, but all he hit was the leg of the small bench he'd been sitting on.

'Fine... piss off. Don't expect me to come and rescue you. This is your hell as much as it is mine. I'll eat, drink and fuck what I want. No little snot rat is going to order me around.' Floyd let go of Spencer and backed away. 'Go... fuck off!' He pulled Spencer off the table by the back of his Tshirt and propelled him in the direction of the door. 'Get the hell out!'

Again the music paused and this time the talking stopped too. All eyes were looking at Spencer. Some licking lips. Some rubbing groins. Some just out of curiosity. Spencer backed away. He didn't want to leave. He just wanted to make sense of what was going on... and that was something he couldn't do right now. Nothing made any damned sense at all! He smacked his head on the top of the door then slid out into the street outside. The chatter started. The music commenced... no one followed.

'Now what?' Sam asked him.

'Let him struggle alone for a few days or hours. I'll pick up what's left of him.'

'You'll be picking him up off someone's dinner plate.' Sam snapped. 'Go get him. I'll go get him.'

'You won't. We both wait here. We take the room Levin has paid for and we eat what is provided. We make no fuss and we don't cause trouble and if I want to eat something I'll bloody well eat it.' Floyd gave Sam a _stay there you fucker_ look and walked over to where the roast was beginning to be hacked at by customers.

Spencer left the place in a hot rush of anger. This wasn't the Floyd he'd loved. This was some malicious, insidious – dare he think it... Bitch! Floyd was spiteful, he knew that. He knew that he said harsh things, did harsher things, but there'd always been some kind of... understanding between them. He didn't think that was quite the right word... maybe not understanding and he knew that for Floyd to say that he loved him was a miracle and said on the rare occasion that Floyd wasn't fully functional or aware. Floyd would never say that and actually want him to think he meant it. But this outright lack of caring was a side of Floyd he didn't see often and really didn't want to see again.

There were more places like the one he'd just left, different music, but much the same smells drifting from them and now the hunger was gone, it just made him retch and want to bring up the small amount of grit filled bread he'd nibbled on.

Floyd had been right though. Spencer knew that much... Floyd knew him well and knew that he was a liar and a cheat. But that had always been to protect Floyd or Sam! He'd done that for them. And he'd taken his own life because Floyd wanted him to! What more dedication could you possibly show a man! He'd trusted him when he shouldn't have. He'd loved him when he'd been told that was an insane thing to do. Floyd always said that Sam was a leach... sucking love from you until there was nothing left to give, but Floyd was the same. It didn't matter what you gave him or what you said or did for him, he wanted more... ignored what you'd done and said and promised and stamped all over it with more demands. Spencer had had enough... at least for now. He wanted to find somewhere quite and be alone for a while. He needed to think without the sounds of Levin's screams and Sam's little comments... and that look on Floyd's face, as though he believed nothing he heard and liked nothing he saw. This Floyd was a twisted monster and Spencer could love him no more than he could love... well... Sam.

Something bumped into him distracting him from his fury. 'You alone?' A rough voice asked him. This thing was about Spencer's height but a lot wider. Apart from that he looked almost normal.

'No.' Spencer tried to push on by.

'You look alone.' The voice snarled at him. 'Let me take you somewhere. I'll show you some things.'

'No... no thank you.' He started to move out of the man's way... this man with a long sharp nose and tight red lips... his hair was long and hanging to his shoulders in greyish brown, greasy lumps. And it was that hair that Spencer was looking at when he should have been looking at the hands which grabbed Spencer by the waistband of his jeans and began to pull him towards a unlit alleyway.

'Get off.' Spencer flailed at him, kicked out at him... tried to wrestle himself free... how long had he been on his own? Ten minutes... maybe half an hour... and he was being dragged off into the dark already... and the smells changed. That hot smell of boiling bones changed to the smell of death, blood, shit... and all the horrors which made those things. He tried holding on the edges of small doorways, but his fingers just slipped away. The stone worn too smooth for him to keep a grip. He could hear that he was shouting for help... he could see eyes glinting in the darkness and he could see that no one was going to assist him.

'What do you want from me?' Spencer eventually asked when the man stopped with his dragging and stood in front of a tall narrow opening with a stink coming from the other side like nothing Spencer had had the pleasure to smell before. He imagined it would smell like this on an ancient battle field when the men had laid there dying with their bodies smashed and their guts laying next to them for a few days. He retched and that small bit of bread finally made its way back up again. But he didn't get an answer. He was pushed through the door into a room which was obviously a butchers shop, only there were no sheep or pigs hanging on the hooks on the wall. Those things looked very human to Spencer. Some recently dead. Some crawling with maggots. Two of them looked to be breathing still.

He didn't just stand there and let them hang him from a hook. He fought. He punched, used his elbows, used his feet... he knocked one thing flying and smashed another in the face with an elbow and almost made it to the door once, but the floor was slick with blood and now knives were appearing and small axes and Spencer was standing in a corner with six human looking things in leather aprons waving weapons at him... one of them had told him to strip... He didn't. He stood there ready to fight them. There was hot blood running down his arm, his knee felt wrong and he could taste blood in his mouth. He was ready for them. He'd not go down without a fight. He'd not be hung on a hook to die. Not him... yet suddenly they were on him, tearing at his clothing, ripping and cutting it from him, grabbing his hair and pushing him against a corpse dangling there with white bloated flesh and things wriggling in the wounds. Something sharp touched the side of his neck... something hot and wet ran down his legs... the knee he was having a problem with gave way and the other leg seemed to want to do the same.

'Let him go.' It was a far away voice... a million miles away through a deep black fog, but it was Floyd's voice. 'I said let him go.'

'What's it to you?' That was the voice of the one who'd so easily grabbed him in the street.

'He's my mate. My bed partner. My fuck. My little cunt. He's mine. He's not for you to butcher.'

Spencer opened his eyes... he hadn't realised that he'd closed them. Being naked and standing there with the point of the hook just under his chin didn't really make Spencer feel all that brave. He was obviously glad to see Floyd standing there with a boy of about ten years old standing in front of him. Floyd had a hand on the boy's head and another on his shoulder. 'Tender... young and tender.' Floyd said and again Spencer wanted to throw up.

'Floyd no.' He muttered... or thought... maybe he didn't say it because Floyd ignored him.

'Swap you.' The boy was shoved in the direction of the head butcher.

The lad screamed and tried to run, but Floyd grabbed him, carried him to a gap in the wall and like the boy was nothing more than a decoration hung the boy by one of the deadly hooks. Spencer saw the look on the boy's face... he saw the blood flowing out of his neck and saw the way the boy kicked and thrashed and then just dangled there. 'There... swap complete. Give me my boy back.'

Spencer didn't remember going back to the tavern. He didn't remember walking up the steps to the room Sam had got and Levin had paid for. He didn't remember laying on the bed and curling up wanting so much to die... again. He couldn't close his eyes because when he did he saw what Floyd did. When but when they were open he could see the mess Levin was in... Spencer was naked. Levin had been stripped of his clothing too and there didn't seem to be an inch of his body that hadn't been battered, burnt, bitten and abused. Levin sat on the floor with his arms around his shins and sobbed into his knees. Sam was sitting on the end of the bed rocking back and forth and Floyd was standing with his back to the door – his eyes almost twitching in the speed they were looking from one of his boys to the next.

'You killed that child.' Spencer finally managed to say between his sobbing breaths.

'I did what needed to be done.' Floyd snapped back at him. 'We all have to do what needs to be done. You want to stay alive then you have to be brutal. You have to give back what's expected. You wanted to die there in that place? You pissed yourself... I think that's a good indication that you didn't like what was going on. I rescued you. I didn't have time to search for someone to replace you. I took what was available. Stop moaning. I've called for a medic to look at your knee. It looks smashed. I can't heal that here... not now... not yet. I don't know how I'm going to pay him.'

'No.' Levin cried. 'Not me... not again.'

Floyd gave Levin a glance. 'No, not you.' He then looked over at Sam.

'Not me either.' Sam whined. 'It's his fault for going off alone. I did what I was told. I'm wearing these things around my ankles. Maybe if you weren't so fucking soft and gave Spencer leg irons too, then he'd not have been taken.'

Floyd nodded. 'That's true. But it doesn't change what has happened.'

'No.' Sam snapped this time. 'You had to go running after Spencer because he doesn't like what he sees. He's a selfish coward. Now one of us is going to get hurt because he thinks he's too good to be here, but he'd not be here in the first damned place if he was so fucking perfect. I'm not going to be given to some medic because Spencer thinks he's better than us.'

Floyd looked at Levin again who was looking back now. His eyes were puffy and red, but apart from that there were no marks on his face. The damage seemed to stop at his shoulders. 'No... it will kill me.' Levin said. 'I can't do that again. Think of something else.'

'Get another rat.' Sam suggested.

Floyd slid down the door so that he was sitting and ran his fingers through his hair. 'I'll sort something. Levin is right. Can't use him again today. He needs to rest. Sam...'

'NO!' Sam shouted. 'I'm not paying for it. Spencer should.'

'Sam... go down to the tavern and ask for some drinks and food to be brought up. Levin, get on the bed. You will feel better if you're laying down. Spencer, that child was just a street rat. They nearly all end up in the cooking pot. It's what's expected. This isn't America. This isn't the world you come from. Things are done differently here. Flesh is currency as is pain. They feed off it. Remember that. And Sam when you go down, see about getting another set of leg irons.'

'And how am I going to pay for them?' Sam asked as he got to his feet.

'I'm sure you'll think of something. Come on boys. It's not all bad. We're all still alive aren't we?'

The medic was a tall, bent backed man of some ancient years. A long dark grey beard was tucked into a belt at his waist. He wore a long brown robe and had deep lines on his face, but he seemed kind and alert. But that was really nothing to go by. A kind face meant nothing. Levin had pulled his leather coat on again but the leather jeans he'd had on under it had been torn to shreds. For now he just buttoned up the coat and wore it like a long dress. It covered all the marks on his body. Sam sat in a corner and watched, ready to run if Floyd tried to pay the medic with his arse. He didn't mind helping out if it was for him as well, but he wasn't going to do that for Spencer. Sam felt he'd done enough for him and got not thanks back... at least not enough thanks. Oddly it was Levin who sat next to Sam and wrapped an arm around him in an almost loving way. Sam was instantly suspicious but Levin really seemed to want nothing more than a hug. Sam gave in and returned it. It was nice to snuggle with Levin. He was just the right shape and size to rest against.

Spencer howled when the medic straightened his leg. The medic made tutting and humming sounds as he probed and Floyd paced.

'I won't have to take the leg off, but he can't walk on it for a while. I'll put on a poultice and strap it up. I'll come back in a couple of days. The wound on the arm is deep but it will heal quickly. I'll poultice that too.' He looked at Floyd who nodded and then went to his bag and pulled out a collection of bits. Floyd was watching carefully. Spencer noted that... was it concern that the man wasn't doing his job? Did Floyd care? When the medic had finished and cleared his stuff away, he warned Spencer to stay off his leg at least until the following day when he'd come back and check, but he thought it was going to be out of action for a while. He hoped they had the funds or ability to pay for the room. The medic looked over at Sam and Levin and nodded at them. Sam snuggled closer to Levin who in turn held Sam tighter.

'Now for payment.' The medic looked at Floyd.

'Outside.' Floyd gestured at the door. 'Boys, stay here.' And Floyd left in a rush of breeches and long dark coat, slamming the door behind him.

The three left in the room stared at each other, Spencer pulling a sheet up over his nakedness and Sam and Levin seemingly holding on tighter to each other. Things would work out so much better if everyone could decide exactly how they felt about each other, but feelings, love, loathing... they seemed to come and pass like some kind of disease and though Spencer hated that Floyd had handed over what appeared to be a child, his heart was also swelling with love that he'd come for him and rescued him from a situation he'd put himself in and had nearly died. Spencer listened out for sounds coming from outside. He didn't know what Floyd was doing, but if it was anything like Levin had done then they'd hear shouts... surely?

Now Spencer looked at Levin and spoke quietly. 'Are you going to be all right? Nothing broken?'

'My pride.' Levin sighed back. 'That is something which takes a lot of care to fix.'

Sam smiled a lazy but happy smile at Lev. 'I'll care for you, but if you hit me I'll put a knife in you again.'

'Oh I believe that.' Levin said. 'I'll not hit you.' And the two of them fell into a hugging and loving embrace... lips and hands doing what lips and hands did best.

Spencer sighed and looked at the door again. He wanted to tell Sam to go and find Floyd, but he didn't for one moment think that Sam would leave his new love... or was it an old love? What ever it was, Sam wouldn't leave Levin to go look for Floyd. Spencer would have gone himself but for the fact that he didn't think he could stand on his bad leg. But, yes, he wanted to go... maybe just to do nothing – just watch... as he had watched Levin. This got Spencer looking at the pair of them again... laying on the floor now, Sam sitting astride Levin and leaning forward kissing him hard on the mouth. A few moments went by before Spencer could honestly say that it wasn't Levin he'd been watching before, but Floyd. He moved slightly to get a better look at Sam, but even so... it was Sam, not Floyd... it didn't feel even slightly erotic... it was just like voyeurism. Spencer looked at the door again.

How long had Floyd been gone? Long enough for Levin to get Sam's jeans down and for the fun to have changed there slightly. It was Sam laying on his back with Levin sitting on his legs, leaning bent double and enjoying whatever it was he was doing. The chains between their ankles seemed to be stopping some of the fun they were after, but they were managing... if Sam's squeaks and yelps was anything to go by...

Then Floyd was coming back through the door. Levin didn't stop what he was doing... and Floyd walked to sit on the bed next to Spencer as though there weren't two pretty boys having sex in the middle of the floor. Floyd gave Spencer a small smirk.

'All sorted and paid for.'

Spencer nodded. He wanted to know what it was Floyd had done, but dared not ask.

'I'm... I didn't...' Spencer muttered... trying to say he was sorry without actually saying the forbidden word.

'No matter. We all have to adapt to the situation. Street rats are easy to come by.'

'A street rat? I don't understand.'

'The man wanted something to fuck. Sam wouldn't. Levin couldn't... you were injured... what did you think I was going to do? Let him do me? You're obviously still in shock if you thought that. Don't look at me like that, Spence. Much of what you'll see here isn't as it appears to be. I'm attempting to keep us safe. If that costs the arse of some underling, then that's what's going to happen. They are wary of me. That very subtle bit of goodness I have hidden somewhere is very much visible to this lot. All the time I've got the upper hand, I'll use it. The rats are nothing. They're used as food. They're nothing more than stray dogs.'

Spencer nodded, trying to get to grips with the idea of that. 'Where do they come from? Are they born here or did they arrive as we did?'

'Born here, Babes. They are nothing... they are soulless scum. A bit like Sam in that. Sam would have died many years ago had he been here alone. That sort don't last long. Far down the food and fuck chain. He's just lucky he's with me... You... now you're a different matter totally. You're not food. I think those butchers were after skinning you. Eating you would have been secondary. Either way, I'd like you to wear leg irons. They let people know that you belong to someone. Did Sam actually go get some? I thought I'd told him to.' Floyd picked a pillow up off the bed and threw it at Sam and Levin. 'You two... Sam... stop now, if you don't mind. Go get the food and drink and some irons for Spencer.'

Sam who was at this point on his front, pushed Levin out of the way and rolled over. Leaning on his elbows he frowned at Floyd. 'It's not that I don't want food and drink or even to see Spencer in irons, but I don't want to go down there alone and Levin is a target now. If I ask for something they'll take Lev as payment and...'

'And that bothers you.' Floyd finished for him. 'They owe us food. Go get the food and drink. That's paid for all ready. Leave Levin here. Levin can take that collar off for a while and Spence can wear it. I'll sort something better out later. Everyone happy now?'

Spencer wasn't happy, but he kept his mouth shut. His leg hurt and his arm was throbbing. He didn't like the idea of having to stay in this place until he was well enough to walk, yet that had certainly been his own doing. He should never have left the protection of the pack. They needed to stay together. Except for Sam who seemed to be able to be alone for a short while and Floyd who apparently knew what he was doing. That didn't change the fact that two people had lost their lives because of his own idiocy.

'I know you said they are just street rats, but I am still feeling that it was wrong to kill that boy at the butchers.' Spencer let Floyd know.

Floyd had stood from the bed and gone over to look at Levin, who was getting dressed again after Sam had removed his long coat. There was a lot of flesh on show as Floyd stood over him lighting up one of his cheroots. 'You would rather I had left you there?' Floyd asked Spencer... and then carried on, not waiting for an answer. 'Of course not. You are glad I came to your aid. You didn't want to die there. What do you want to have happened? You wanted your hero to come screaming in and kill everyone? You would rather I'd have killed those butchers? Six of them. Six dead is preferable to one. I don't understand that sort of reasoning, Babes...' He hunkered down next to Levin and ran a finger over his lips. 'I'm going to make sure that you get what you deserve, Lev. I hope you only deserve wondrous things.' He then looked up at Spencer who was laying on the bed but watching everything going on. 'You'll get used to it.'

'Used to what?' Spencer now asked, as Floyd slid a hand inside Levin's coat. 'The way you grope everyone? Or the way you throw children to their death and think nothing of it.'

'Both.' Floyd moved back from Levin and wiped his hand on the leg of his breeches. 'You don't like me touching?'

'I don't like you touching. For some odd reason I get feelings of deep discontent when I see you do that to someone like that. All Levin is, is a highly paid whore. You don't need him.'

Floyd jumped to his feet with a smirk on his face. 'I love you when you get all jealous. It puts such a cute expression on your face... so hurt... so very hurt. But I'll touch who I want, when I want... I don't need him, but sometimes, just sometimes... I want. Is there nothing besides my cock that you want? No special and secret desires?'

Spencer swallowed but said nothing. Admitting anything was a direct route to being slapped and he was in too much pain today for that. 'Nothing you don't all ready know about.'

'Hotchner. You liked the way he watched you shower. You liked the way his eyes followed you. I know that. You don't have to tell me. I know you wanted him... even just to see what it was like to be fucked by him... I know.'

'You asked for secret desires. If you know that – then it's not a secret.' Spencer countered.

'I see. So I'm right? You wanted Hotch?'

'I never said that. You're putting words into my mouth. I'm not going to admit to something just so you can beat me bloody and tell me I deserved it. You'll have to find another reason.'

'I don't need a reason.' Floyd told him. 'Anyway – food and drink soon. Time to relax. Tomorrow the medic will see to your leg again and I might wander out and pick up some clothing for you. I am assuming you don't want to walk around naked.'

'You are correct.' Spencer told him. 'I'll come with you.'

'No... not on that poorly leg of yours. I'll go alone.'

'And how will you pay for this clothing?'

Floyd sighed and closed his eyes for a while. Spencer would never understand how things worked here. There was no point in going over it all again. 'That's not your concern.' Floyd told him. Whatever method of payment the vendor wanted, Floyd would provide, but he wasn't going to go through the rule of barter with someone who only understood his own narrow way of life. It was time for Spencer to spread his proverbial wings and start living.

'It's my concern if you're going to kill someone just to clothe me.'

And Spencer was off... whining and moaning about loss of life compared to the cost of a pair of breeches and Floyd really wasn't interested in listening. Ask Floyd and he'd have called it a love tap. Ask Spencer and he'd say Floyd punched him in the mouth. Levin would have no opinion, but it stopped the noise coming out of Spencer's mouth. Floyd tucked the sheet in around him and looked over at Levin. 'Come here.'

Levin shook his head. 'I'm in pain.'

'You weren't in too much pain to play _come fuck me_ with Sam. Do I not stir you in the same way Sam does?'

'You broke into my apartment and scared the hell out of me. You threatened me. You told me I had to be nice to Sam and that's what I'm doing. I never meant to hurt him. He should have left me when I was having a nightmare... all would have been fine. He should have just ignored me. But I'm being good to him. I'll protect him if I can and I'll show him love... I just didn't think he'd accept it from me again after what happened.' Levin picked at a button on the front of his beautiful coat. 'What are you going to do with me? You can't keep me here. Someone will eventually get to me. I can't disguise what I am for long. I'm not powerful like you. You can hide it... you cover it somehow, but I'm not you.'

'We can thank the gods for that small mercy. I'll not let anything mortal happen to you. Not unless it's me doing the killing. You'll be perfectly safe with me.'

'But if I die down here... Floyd you know what will happen.'

'I know. Eternal death... burning constantly forever... That's a fucking long time. But you were born of fire and you'll return to it. In my soul I carry something harder than diamond... and colder than ice. Whatever light is still there is dim and not worth much. You... you however...'

'So you will kill me.' Levin said rather than asked.

'If needs be. Your job is to ensure that time never happens. If I can get us out of here... at least out of The Maze and to the jungles... maybe things will be better there.'

Levin's face fell... his silvery eyes twinkled in alarm though. 'The jungle? You are not really serious about that, are you? You're jesting.'

'We need to be able to get food and not have to pay for it the way we have been. It's not something I want to make too much of a habit of. But if someone is going to be my coin, it'll be you. So... maybe we can hunt our own food somewhere else. Spencer won't eat the rats from here and there is that or other living creatures which I'm sure he'll be just as adverse to. So we will go and hunt food and we will survive, because that is what we have to do.'

'And if I don't want to?'

'Then leave. Leave. But you'll get no further than Spencer did earlier and I'm not coming looking for you. You'll be on a spit within the hour. Juicy little thing like you.'

Levin's face went back to the expressionless visage he liked to carry. He shook his head and tucked his long fair hair behind his ears. 'You hate me.'

'Hate is the wrong word. I revile you. If I had my choice I'd not help you. I'd stand by and watch these locals rip you apart. You repulse me, Levin. But you're here and you keep Sam happy and you will continue to keep Sam happy because a happy Sam is a cute and nice Sam. And we don't want that other Sam to show his colours.' Floyd looked at the door. Footsteps were approaching. 'When you show your own colours, Levin – I will destroy you.' The door opened and Floyd went back to smoking and Levin back to picking at his button. Sam stood in the doorway with a large bowl of food and a serving creature behind him with bottles of drink, mugs and some bread.

* * *

**a/n: I've been ill. Sorry for the delay. At least I would be sorry if I didn't feel that word was meaningless. But if a part of me felt remorse for delivering this chapter late, then I'd be sorry. I'm not. xoxoxoxox**


	11. Chapter 11

The Original Light

The four of them slept in the same bed. Apart from Floyd who didn't sleep, but spent the night gently pawing Spencer and being roughly pawed by Sam, who did finally sleep. Floyd's mood sank to deep dark levels. He'd not intended to be stuck in this place for too long. He knew that Spencer wouldn't deal very well with what was going on, but now with the stupidity, his own and Spencer's they were stuck here for at least a few more days. He would send Sam out to get funds, but didn't trust him to come back again. If Sam saw or heard of something shiny and nice, he'd be gone, never to be seen again. Sending Levin out was not possible if they wanted to see him again... but for different reasons. He'd be cooking on a spit as soon as he left the room. That left himself, and Floyd didn't want to pay in the currency which was common here. Though he'd never baulked at sex or pain... or indeed sex _and_ pain, he didn't want his arse or his body to be handed around for food. Sam was far better at that... yet... there was that damned trust issue.

Floyd rolled onto his back and pulled Sam's sleeping hand out of the front of his breeches. There had to be a better way. Keep dragging rats off the street was going to get Spencer riled... the man... dare Floyd think of Spencer as a man now? He was a man. Times had moved on fast... too fast. Spencer didn't understand that the things thrown around for fun were not children as they may well appear to be... the street rats just looked that way because that's what the locals desired. Go a few towns over and it would be something else... a fair haired woman, a dark skinned man... or even an animal... yet they were all the same inside. They are all rats without souls or spirits. Nothing more than a banana plant... or a lump of shit. Here the rats roamed free... in other places they were caught and put in pens and sold in the markets. Spencer wouldn't like that either. Spencer and his high morals... Spencer the liar... Spencer the faggot. Spencer who liked to suck on dick... perfect Spencer with his pretty eyes and soft wavy hair and a very nice arse too. He had plans for Levin and they all involved him killing him. That was something Sam was going to protest against and likely Spencer too. Why did they have to be so stubborn... so unwilling to see the bigger picture? They thought they were right and that was the end of the debate, whereas Floyd knew very well that it was himself who was correct in all matters all of the time.

Levin was surely sweet to look at, but he was the chip which Floyd intended to bargain with to get his own life back on track. Living down here wasn't all bad, but it wasn't a place he wanted to live eternally in... just keeping Spencer alive was going to take all of the joy away from being here. He turned and looked at Sam's sleeping face. The slightly open mouth and beautiful lips... those black eyelashes resting on his face... that cute little nose and that smooth and delicious skin which never had stubble and would never become rough and hard through shaving... pretty boy... perfect and pretty. He had been castrated, but that didn't by any means curb his libido. He looked over Sam's skinny and pale shoulder at Levin who was laying there looking right back at him. As Spencer had noted earlier, in this light, Levin's eyes looked almost silver they were so light in colour. He blinked and licked his lips.

'You should be sleeping.' Floyd whispered over Sam bony form.

'I have been. Something woke me... movement in the bed I suspect.' Levin whispered back, his voice a song in Floyd's heart. Had there been no risk or waking Sam and Spencer he would have slipped out of bed there and then and had the pretty Seraphim up against the wall. He would have made him scream... would have smelt the blood... it would have been glorious.

'You would kill me.' The Seraphim said to Floyd.

'You are reading my mind.' Floyd replied.

'No... I read your soul. I know what you want.'

Floyd pushed up onto one elbow and frowned at Levin. 'You know what I want? Then please tell me because I am flummoxed.'

Levin flicked his hair off his face in a lazy gesture and shrugged. 'You want me dead. I know that much. I saw you... when you pulled that knife from my chest. I saw the pleasure you got from that knowing it would kill me. I know you cut me up... I stood there in my shadow and I watched what you did to me. You will... you want to do it again. Creatures like you... they find something they desire and they will repeat until it makes them sick... as Spencer has made you sick.'

Now Floyd slipped from the bed... Spencer moaned and rolled over, reaching out. It was Sam's hand he touched and Sam who wound fingers through his. Floyd wanted to pull them apart, but he wanted to talk to Levin with his fists first... outside... 'Outside.' He hissed, tapping Lev on the foot.

Levin slipped from the bed too... giving Sam a backwards glance and then followed Floyd out of the door and into the dull red light of the corridor. The stone walls seemed to be sweating... puddles had formed at the edges of the floor... light seeped out from under some of the half dozen doors... Floyd touched Levin on the arm and nodded towards the stairs. 'Outside.' He said again and Levin nodded and walked ahead, limping and clanking slightly in his chains, but he was getting better at walking in them... He was learning. Floyd wondered if it was too late though.

Night and day were much alike in a place like this. The lanterns were still lit, pooling their liquid onto the floor. Things lurked in the shadows... other things scuttled around, licking at the floor and scaling the lumpy dark walls. Floyd put a hand on each of Levin's shoulders and pushed him against the wall... leaning on him, nose to nose.

'What do you see?' He asked him. Not bothering to lower his voice now.

'Death.' The Seraphim replied.

'Smart answer, considering the reason we are all here. What do you see?'

Levin tried to pull away from Floyd's clutches, but was held firmly in place. 'My death – again.' He said in a sigh. 'Why do you keep trying? What makes you think they will forgive you when every step you take is a step further from the light? I know you're not stupid – so why?'

'Is that why you stopped trying? You think what you've done can not be forgiven?'

Levin let out a small tinkle of a laugh. 'Forgiven? Me? No... they won't do that. I stopped believing that a long time ago. I stopped thinking that there was forgiveness available the moment they pushed me out. They don't forgive. Ever. Even the true prophets lie when they say that. Even the ones who truly think they have the ear of the gods don't really think that there is any forgiveness. They are arrogant cunts. They will never have you back. They will never trust you... so kill me... get it done. Let me go... I'm not stopping you. I'm not scared of you, Isgar... any more than you are scared of me. But killing me won't bring redemption. And you know that. You're cursed to roam forever trying to get back something you never truly had in the first place. Peace... love... tranquillity... I know from the darkness of your soul that you don't really desire those things. You've been given chances and you never take them... you never even looked twice. You never even saw them because you're so blinkered and just as arrogant as the rest of them... so that is why I don't even try... there's no point. I am one of the lost ones... and so are you... only even if you're found they'll pretend they didn't see you.'

Floyd took his hands from Levin's shoulders and took a step back. 'You're a bit of a smart arse, aren't you?'

'No.' Levin crossed his arms over his slim chest. 'I just know when to stop trying for something I can't have. It's time you took a good hard look at yourself. You've worked for both sides and now neither side will even contemplate having you work for them. At least I've not done that. I've kept a bit of me... a true bit of me.'

'Well I hope that true bit of you will be smiling when I screw your head off your shoulders.' Floyd smirked at the idiot.

'But...' Levin's face twitched... maybe it was a smirk of his own... but only if you looked really hard. '...you're going to feed me to fire. I know. I know what you have planned. I can see you, read you... I know you better than you know yourself.' He glanced towards the door they'd come out of. 'Why does Spencer trust you? What did you do to him to get him to keep coming back to you?'

Floyd didn't answer. He walked in the direction Levin had looked and went back through the door. A few seconds later Levin was walking behind him into the downstairs common area. The thing which had been cooking over the fire could have been anything now. It no longer looked as though it might once have been human. The fire had gone out. The musician was curled up in a corner with his instrument clutched in his hands and was snoring gently. The grey sagging woman who had been there earlier was gone too, but a big bearded man with one eye slightly offset from centre was leaning on what passed as a bar. That one eye was looking at Levin.

Floyd turned to look at that impassive and unchanging face Lev always seemed to have. 'If I don't scare you, why did you piss yourself?' He kept his voice down slightly now that someone was obviously listening. Or at least taking more interest than Floyd would have liked.

'It wasn't you that caused that. It was knowing where I was and what was going to happen. I'm not a fighter, Isgar... I'm not made to kill... I have to get by just with my brain... and it keeps and stores vast amounts of information. I don't want to be here. I know what this place is... I was confused at first, but slowly the required memories are returning and I know how much of a bastard you are and I know that you are going to feed me to fire. For that at least I will thank you.'

Again Floyd walked away. The Seraphim was being a bit too smug about things for him to want to argue with him.

And there was the fact that the cunt was right.

Floyd had been taking backward steps into oblivion since the day he went to the other team and asked for help. He'd been weak then. He'd been stupid... that doesn't mean that he didn't do it. No amount of back peddling and whining about the miserable state he was now in was going to change that. He could fool Spencer... maybe even fool Sam... but not Levin, it would seem... and certainly not the gods... and it was them who he had been trying to fool for most of his existence.

'I'd not call it a life.' Floyd muttered.

'Call it what you want... it will never be over. They won't allow that.'

'I don't like your smart mouth.'

'Find it hurts? You don't like to see what you really are? Look at Spencer... really look and then look at Sam. Why? Why did you create Sam? What was that for? No... no don't bother telling me. I know. He's just something to play with. Something to keep your dick warm. Couldn't you have used a sock for that and caused one creature a little less pain? No... of course not. That wouldn't occur to you would it?' Levin walked around Floyd and after stumbling slightly on the stairs went back into the room where Spencer and Sam were still sleeping, now curled up with each other in a way that made Floyd's blood boil... in a very good way. Levin sat on a chair and started to pick dirt out from behind his toe nails. Floyd hunkered down next to the bed and watched the pair of them hugging.

'It's worth it all just for this.' Floyd spoke softly, not wanting to awaken them.

Levin's face twitched again. 'I must admit that I don't see what it is you do when I look at Spencer. I am by far the prettiest of the four of us.'

'Oh, don't tell Sam you think that. You'll make him cry.' Floyd smirked at his boys. 'You know what you need to do to stay alive. Keep Sam happy. It's that simple.'

Levin's silvery eyes flicked towards Sam and then back to Floyd. 'You make things difficult for a reason?'

'There is someone else you'd rather make happy? I thought Spencer did nothing for you.'

'He doesn't. And you need to get him some clothes. And I'd like some more under garments and maybe have these removed.' He rattled his chains. 'You want me to keep Sam happy. I will keep Sam happy. Not because it will keep me alive. Obviously it doesn't work like that.' He gestured around himself indicating where he was. 'The jungle is a terrible place to go.' He sighed and smoothed out his leather coat.

'It is the way forward.'

'It is the way... but not forward. Stop trying to fool yourself. The jungle will be our deaths. You know that... you see yourself holding Sam's face under the insect bloated waters... Fancy birds with incredible feathers of colours which have no names... the constant howling of the monkeys in the trees and the hissing of the snakes on the ground... the snapping of the jaws of all those things coming to find who it is intruding on their patch... things flying with wings which should be too small to carry their many limbed bodies... maggots the size of dogs... the gods only know what they'll become, but that's nothing compared to the pleasure of Sam's struggles... his hands slapping at the water... the way his shoulders buck and move... they way his screams are just pretty bubbles in the water... That's what you have planned for him. I have seen your dreams.'

'Oh just shut your wank of a face before I pull your damned tongue out.' Floyd snapped at him.

'You don't like it when you're shown the truth.' Levin muttered.

And Levin was correct on that much at least. Floyd really didn't like his faults being pressed on him by some flirty damned fairy boy. 'You're only here because you look nice.' Was all Floyd could think of to counter him with. 'And that won't last long if you keep up this...'

'This what? This truth?'

'Yes! Lie all you want... choose your visit to hell for all the truths to flood out of your nasty deceitful gob. You could have picked a better time.'

Levin did that annoyingly cute laugh again. 'What do you mean by that? I could have said what an arrogant bitch you are when we were both up top... so to speak? You would have liked to have had a reason to... oh wait! You _did_ kill me! You then decapitated me, mangled me... sliced me into bits... chopped up what was left and sucked the marrow from my long bones! HA! You've done your worst... what's left?'

'I'm going out. Stay with them.' Floyd gave Levin no room to argue and was gone again... sweeping out of the building and into the stuffy streets.

There was one with shoulder length brown hair... wearing rags and licking muck out of a puddle. For a few moments, Floyd stood and watched. He wondered how much of a sense of existence these creatures really had. He'd discounted them... always discounted them as the lowest form of creature before you reach vegetation, but he wondered if he'd been wrong. He pulled a lump of bread out of his pocket and approached the boy, dropping it onto the floor and splashing it into the edge of one of the oily puddles. A hand whipped out and snagged it, pulling it back, but it didn't look up to see where the prize had come from. Floyd hunkered down next to him and touched his shoulder. 'More where that came from.' He told him.

The face which now looked up had wide dark eyes and a cheek stuffed with bread. It was a small pointed face... dirty... very dirty, but a nice face... no unusual growths or extra eyes. The boy did have mottled greenish grey skin, but that didn't take away the prettiness from his face at all. He seemed to be about ten... if you wanted to count his age in human years.

'Why?' The boy said. His voice was not much more than a hiss. A strange voice better suited to a snake than a rat.

'Because I want to ask you questions.'

'Fuck off.' The boy spat out the bread, sniffed and carried on licking at the puddle.

'Do you have a name?' Floyd needed to know. Giving of names was what seemed to put some creatures above others. He'd never actually thought that the rats would name themselves.

'Sessos.' He hissed back at Floyd.

'Sessos. And who gave you such a pretty name?'

The boy moved to his knees now and gave Floyd a curious frown. 'My ma... who else would name me?'

'Your mother? You have a mother?'

'Everything comes from somewhere. Of course I have a mother. She's long dead now... but of course. Everyone has a mother at some point... come from egg or cunt... there's a mother some place.'

Well that wasn't so for Floyd. He'd been created from a shaft of pure light and love, but there was no need to educate the boy so late in his life. 'Silly me.' Floyd said as he stood, grabbing Sessos by the back of his ragged shirt. 'You're coming with me.'

'For questions?' The idiot boy asked.

'Oh for such and such.' Floyd pushed the boy in front of him, grasping his hair to stop him running. 'Tell me... a good place to purchase clothing.'

'Down there.' He pointed into shadows. 'But... no... mister... not me. Please don't. I never hurt you. I never done nothing to you... why me? There's others... take another.'

Floyd ordered under-clothing for Levin. He threw the boy at the tailor and said he'd be back within the hour. When the tailor complained that he didn't like to take in the leather when it was still attached to the previous owner, Floyd offered to skin Sessos for him.

'At least make it so he's not wriggling.' The tailor remarked. And so Floyd did. He clamped his hand over the boy's mouth and nose and held him tight to his chest... one of the last things the boy would have felt was the love Floyd was feeling for him as he wriggled and pissed himself. The tailor was still not happy though.

'I don't like to skin them...' He proffered a knife to Floyd who was more than happy to skin the boy. At least that way he knew that the skin used was going to be from what he'd picked. Floyd was a proficient skinner. He'd spent much of his life doing this. It was over quickly... the whole encounter from start to finish was done within the hour.

'You will have this ready for me this time tomorrow?' Floyd slapped down a bit of paper with approximate measurements for Levin's new under wear.

'A pretty girdle... and... oh yes... I have chemicals to cure the hide. It's a pretty one.'

'And I will remember what it looks like, so don't think of keeping it for yourself.' Floyd left no room for the man to argue. He'd not even asked for a price, but he'd provided the man with food for a couple of days, surely that was enough.

The next was a taller man... not a street rat at all. Black skinned... oiled... slender and naked... it was a beauty... a shame about the colour. Though in the end it seemed that it didn't matter about the colour... his arse was still nice and he still squirmed and yelped as they all did.

He had an interesting evening. He fucked everything he came across... tore off some wings... battered a few until brains were dripping from noses and ears and yet others he ignored... mostly the ones with breasts... and the ones who were too small. If asked, he would have told the questioner, just before killing them, that he was following instinct... that this was his true self. This was the truth Levin had talked about. They wanted the real Floyd to show his very ugly colours, well here it was... come and stare... these are not boys... these are not children... they're rats...

His heart was pounding... his blood racing, when he walked back into the room where his boys were and threw a pair of old breeches at Spencer. They were the best he could get on short notice. Nothing specially tailor made for him. Spencer was sitting on the side of the bed putting pressure on his leg.

'We were going to come and look for you.' Spencer said... careful... be careful... Floyd looked as though he wanted to kill someone. 'Has something happened?'

'Yes.' Floyd threw himself onto the bed and pulled a pillow over his head. 'Get dressed. I need to rest.'

The three of them exchanged quick glances. Floyd had been gone for hours. Each of them in turn had admitted that they were concerned... or was Levin actually beyond concern and visiting the land of hope... hope that he'd not return.

'I'll go get some breakfast.' Sam said. 'You two stay here with Floyd.'

Spencer didn't like to take orders from Sam, but he also didn't want to be left here alone with Floyd... and didn't want to go down to the bar with Sam. 'Be quick.' Was all he said on the matter.

Levin sat hunched up in the corner... there was a strange look on his face. One which was beyond that normal blank look of his... yet no one seemed to notice it. If they'd looked they'd have seen something akin to horror sitting there... blatantly on Levin's face. A twitch of the nose... a flick of the eyelashes and then his face dropped back to the blank expression he attempted to keep at all times.

Breakfast was a couple of jugs of bitter ale, some bread, cheese and a collection of nuts. Sam seemed happy with what had been offered. Spencer prodded the nuts and picked at some bread. Levin took some ale and a handful of nuts. They nibbled in silence but their eyes didn't leave Floyd who was on his side with his back to them. Something had happened. They all knew that, and each of them was inventing different events which might have taken place. Sam assumed it was something to do with sex... Floyd had been jumped by something and poked him good and hard. Spencer desperately wanted to think that Floyd had spent time alone considering his actions of the previous day. Levin read Floyd and blinked. He looked at Sam and gave a small nod and then went back to the things which looked a bit like pecans which he'd been eating.

'So what happened?' Sam needed to know. Seemed that Levin had guessed... Seemed that Spencer didn't have a clue either.

'I got to thinking.' Floyd pulled the pillow off his head and rolled over to look at his boys all sitting there on the floor... sitting together as though they were friends. It made him want to laugh. They loathed each other. He had to kill them or get them dead in some way to have them sit that close and not want to punch each other on the nose. 'What happens to people... Spencer, what happens to people who die... people where you come from... people who haven't got a creature like me holding onto them. What happens to all of that energy they had. That energy they were creating with each step they take... each thought they make. It came from somewhere... where has it gone?'

Sam's hand went up as though he was in a classroom. 'I know!' He jumped to his feet, knocking over a bowl of nuts onto the floor. 'Thermodynamics.' He grinned at Floyd. 'And I do know this. I read about this and it made so much sense! We take energy from around us when we are created. Then all the time we are living and breathing we are creating energy and putting back what we've taken... sort of... that's the easy way of thinking of it, so when an animal dies – for example – they rot and the energy from their rotting body... the heat, that's transferred into the ground around them giving life – NO! Not life, giving energy to the earth and that creates or gives energy to the small thing which fell off the tree... the nut! The nut! You see? And the warmth in the ground – which is then energy then gives life to the nut which grows... and then the squirrel or whatever the animal was has transferred the energy into a new life and the tree will grow and produce chemicals and give homes to animals and eventually it will die... and it will fall and it will give off heat and so it continues.' Sam then sat down again.

'I wasn't asking you.' Floyd snapped at him.

'But that's also an explanation of the decline of the universe and the disorder and chaos, because heat is a very low form of energy and eventually that's all there will be left and there will be no light and everything will die.'

'Shut up Sam.' Floyd snapped again.

'But that's what happens. Creatures that have no soul...'

'I said for you to shut up.'

'But you asked!' Sam stood up again. 'You just don't like it when you realise what a smart bunny I am.'

'I don't like it when you answer for someone else. I asked Spencer the question, not you.'

'That's why it's dark here and warm... hot and dark. That's why. This is the core of the end. This is where things come when there is no where else to go. The lost ones, like Levin... the cursed ones like you and things like me and Spencer who have no choices in life, but are dragged along behind you because your personal energy field is so immense that nothing can resist once you've got too close and that's why you can drag us around because your energy is pure. The core is pure and it still has order and hasn't declined into the chaos yet, like what mine has and Levin's and Spencer's and so you're able to do the shit you do because you are still of that original light.'

'For the love of the gods... someone shut him up.' Floyd started to slide off the bed. Sam picked up the bowl of nuts and held it defensively, ready to smack Floyd with it if he came too close.

'But I'm right.' Sam insisted. 'Am I right or not.' He waved the small bowl in front of him. 'You know what? Try to hit me and I'll stuff this so far up your arse you'll be able to chew on the nuts.'

It maybe was an offer that Floyd didn't want to refuse, but Levin stood in his way now, protecting Sam in the way he'd told him to, yet now was finding it quite annoying.

'Levin, get out of my way. I don't want to have to kill you too.'

And now Spencer was at Floyd's side, placing a hand on his arm. 'I don't know what happened but whatever it was does not mean you can kill Sam. He was just voicing an idea. It was a good one. Now back off.'

Spencer telling him what to do? What had life come to? Had he really been such an awful person that a bit of scum from some random back town desert could tell him what to do? Seemed so, because Floyd found that he was sitting on the side of the bed again.

'If energy creates life then this is all we are.' Floyd found himself muttering.

'We have a spirit and a soul.' Spencer reminded Floyd. 'We're not rats or dogs or...'

'But we are.' Floyd flumped back onto the bed and curled up again. 'All of us created from that...'

'The big bang.' Sam intruded on Floyd's words. 'It started at the beginning of time and that was a long fuck of a time ago.'

'Please... please someone make him be quiet. He's giving me a sore head. If I can't kill him, then I leave it to you to keep him quiet.'

'I'll keep him quiet.' Levin offered... 'At least I can stop him talking.'

Spencer saw it. He saw that flicker of a smile on Levin's face.

As much as Floyd despised Levin, loathed Sam and was so very tired of Spencer, he still felt this weird need to protect them all, and not just protect them either, but to show them off; let people know they were his. For this reason and this reason only, once Sam had shut up, but Levin had started with a stream of excited yelps, banging his fists on the floor and making drooling sounds, it was then that Floyd offered Spencer his shoulder and said he'd help him downstairs to have a change of scenery. Oh there was that fact that Spencer seemed to want to watch... and Floyd was unaccustomed to feeling pleasure in letting his boy watch porn... at least not porn he'd not already watched and vetted himself.

'I'm OK here.'

That's what Spencer said and it caused Floyd to sneeze and want to drag Spencer from the room by his tongue. It mattered not whether he thought it was OK or not. Floyd didn't like it. He didn't like the way it all felt so very comfortable. He didn't like the way Spencer was accepting what was going on here. He liked none of it. He'd be glad to get them to the jungle, but such jolly fun was going to have to wait.

'No point in taking a cripple.' Floyd had said. And Floyd was right.

Floyd was always right.

Floyd was sure he'd mentioned that previously.

So even though Spencer had voiced his displeasure at being hoisted from the comfort of the bed, they were making their way towards the slightly slippery stair way.

'It's that thing...'

Floyd knew what Spencer meant. 'It hardly looks like anything now.'

Spencer pulled a face, being very careful to keep his teeth hidden. 'How long do we have to stay here for? Can't you help my knee heal quickly?' Spencer played the part of the slut and ran his free hand over the front of Floyd's breeches. 'Can we at least find somewhere where we don't have to use such an abhorrent currency to buy our food?'

Oh Spencer was doing his head in. There was a flash of temptation... luckily it was just a flash and Floyd didn't follow it, but just to press his hand to the small of Spencer's back and push him down the stairs... how much of a problem would that solve? He decided to change the subject.

'So... you left a will of sorts?' He asked Spencer... Another flash of temptation... again he ignored it. He felt Spencer's arm holding on tighter as they did a three legged crawl down the stairs.

'I left everything to you.' Spencer did a closed mouthed smile. 'It really doesn't matter. I'm not there to see what happens.'

'So burial or cremation?'

'Oh.' Spencer stopped. There were two steps to go. Enough to hurt if he was pushed, but where was the joy in pushing someone down two damned steps? 'Burial.'

'So we can go dig you up again if needs be.' Floyd went down the next step, dragging Spencer with him.

'I'd sooner not have to dig myself up.'

'Sam and Levin... both... cremation jobs. I made sure of that... I made sure of that with Sam... Levin knows that he can't move on unless he burns. This I'm saying for a reason.' The last step and they stood leaning on the wall for a while. Spencer taking deep breaths.

'Are you going to tell me why you're saying this now?' Spencer fiddled with the slightly stiff and smelly breeches he'd put on. Now that they were warming up he could smell the not so faint odour of... well of ordure and piss. He quickly wondered about washing facilities.

'Just that when I throw Levin into the lava, that you'll understand.'

Spencer shrugged. Was Floyd trying to annoy him? Didn't Floyd spend his life trying to annoy him? Why now?

'And how will I die? You have that planned?'

Floyd said nothing to Spencer for now, but called out for music, food and maybe some dancing boys. He then turned back and looked at Spencer still leaning on the wall. 'Ask Levin. He knows. Come... let's relax for a while.'

They sat and played cards. They played dice. They placed a game a bit like chess – Floyd showed him the rules but Spencer was sure Floyd was cheating. They'd both cheated with the cards and dice so it wouldn't have been too much of a shock if he had. The thing over the fire had been removed... there were squelching, scraping sounds coming from the kitchen and low and sad sounding tune from the bard sitting with a small harp on his knee and a green feather in his hat. It was the sort of tune which sounded as though it was just coming to the fast part, when it all slowed down again. The man with the off set eye was banging a large wooden spoon on the bottom of what seemed to be a wooden bucket... the sound was dismal and forlorn, but Floyd seemed to like it.

'You were asking for a name.' A voice suddenly said. A man with unbrushed ginger hair and a bright green eye sat down facing them. A short man in what seemed to be monks robes stood behind him with a wooden staff in his hand. His face in shadow... never mind him... the one sitting down, Spencer could see his face clearly enough. He was wearing an eye patch. A long scar ran from his forehead down through where the eye should have been and down across his cheek. The scar was strange though, in the shape of a hand. Spencer thought it looked as though a boiling hot hand had pressed against the man's face and he cringed slightly thinking about how much that must of hurt. Apart from that and the brightness of the eye... and the curve of the mouth, which seemed to be mocking... he looked human. The scruffy hair hung down the man's back where there seemed to be the hilt of a sword jutting over the shoulder.

'Fuck off.' Floyd said... only briefly looking up at who had joined them.

'I might have the name you want.' Clipped accent. Not one Spencer recognised.

'If you tell me that it's you or that little arse wipe of a son of yours then I'm going to kill myself here.' Floyd pulled out a small skinning knife and pressed it to his own throat.

'Hey...' Spencer started. 'What? Stop it.'

'Tell me.' Floyd hissed at the two strangers.

'And let you choose the manner of your parting?' The man with the one green eye grinned. His teeth were broken... but white. He placed his hands on the table in front of him and now Spencer could see that the little finger on the left hand was missing. 'Stop scaring your buddy, Isgar. You want the information I have or not?'

There was a long drawn out sigh from Floyd who lowered the knife and placed it on the table in front of him. He shook his head. 'No. I don't. Your price will be too high.'

The man standing behind leaned forwards and whispered something in the one eyed man's ear. There was a nod and the man stood. 'I'll take it anyway. You might as well get something in exchange.'

'Go threaten someone else. I'm not interested in making deals with the likes of you.'

Now he leaned forward so his elbows were resting on the table and his face, curtained with dirty ginger hair looked down at Floyd. Up this close Spencer could see the man had a cute scattering of freckles across his nose. 'I'll have him anyway, Issie. Not today... maybe not tomorrow... but one day when you're not looking... one day when you let your guard down... I'll have that creature and I'll have him displayed on my wall like the ugliest butterfly ever.'

'Don't call me Issie.' Floyd snapped back at him. 'Take your promises and threats elsewhere. I don't do business with ginger arse faces.' Floyd stood... tapping Spencer on the shoulder. 'This creep has ruined our relaxation time. Back to the room.'

'Run...' The other man now called out. 'Run Isgar. Go protect your boys.'

Floyd stared at the face hidden in the shadows. 'You two sell swords need to go get what you want from somewhere else. I'm not interested. Take your old man and get the fuck out of my face before you regret being born.'

The robed one nodded slowly and put a hand on the other's shoulder. 'And there I was going to offer his trollop my healing hands. A small price to pay? You'd be able to leave... well leave as soon as you've packed your bags. Truth is that we don't want you hanging around here.'

'Truth is, I don't give a flying fuck if you don't want me here or not and touch my boy here... you'll find the next thing you do is die. There... we've warned each other now. I don't like you, you don't like me... it's mutual. Now I'm going back to my room and you can leave. End of discussion.'

'We shall be watching you.' The older of the two said. Though to Spencer he didn't look much beyond forty.

'Sam isn't for sale.' Floyd snapped at them. 'Watch all you want. You can't have him. Not even for the name I'm after, but I don't think you have that anyway.'

'You'd take that risk? Come on now Isgar, you intend killing them anyway, what difference does it matter when that happens? The creature will die. Surely it's better to get it over with?'

Floyd dragged Spencer off the bench and helped him back towards the stairs. The two strangers left as quietly and suddenly as they'd arrived.

'Who?' Spencer started to ask as he hopped along clinging hold of Floyd.

'No one.' Floyd replied.

'Why didn't you just hit him?'

Floyd turned when he got to the stairs and sat on the next to bottom one, pulling Spencer down with him. 'It's probably a very good idea, not to mention that encounter to Sam... or to Levin for that matter. They're not a couple I like to mix with.'

'Floyd...' Spencer put a hand on Floyd's knee and squeezed slightly. 'They want Sam? Who are they?'

'Two shits.' Floyd turned to look at Spencer. He gave him a quick smirk and ran a finger down the side of his face. 'You are quite gorgeous... you know that?'

'I truly think that you see something other people don't.' Spencer replied. But that's not the answer to the question I asked. Are they a danger to Sam? Who are they?'

Floyd kissed Spencer on the end of his nose. 'Hunters. They work for some demi god of fire. They carry demon crafted weapons and they are very good at their job. I'm not going to fight them.'

Spencer sat for a moment in silence. He could feel Floyd's fingers drawing invisible patterns on the side of his face, and Floyd's thumb gently brushing over his lips. His hands had a strange smell to them. Spencer decided it was best not to start trying to work out what the smell was.

'I wish you would tell me what is going on.'

'I know, Babes, but I can't tell you.'

'Do you actually know yourself? You need to find someone – surely they would have told you who this person is? Couldn't you have offered them something else?'

Floyd stood up so suddenly that Spencer nearly fell sideways onto the steps. 'I said... I'm not making deals with them. The one with the one eye... he might not look dangerous, but I'd not want to fight him all the time he has that boy with him... and all the time he has that sword to hand. I'm not a coward – don't think that, but neither am I a fool. And that one in the robes, don't under estimate that shit. He's as nasty as they come. He'd stand and watch the ones he loves die, just to see how long it takes. He's scum. As for lending you his healing hands... no... don't be tempted. He might do that, but the price would likely be that he'd break something else just to keep the balance.'

Spencer stood looking at Floyd who had killed those he'd loved. He'd stood there and watched him! Floyd had done just what he said that other person did... and that was what made him such a repulsive person. Did Floyd see that he did exactly the same? And not just that once either. Oh no... Floyd had killed and destroyed things he loved many times.

Spencer decided that it wasn't worth broaching the subject – not now – not ever. He didn't want to learn my example.


	12. Chapter 12

The Apple.

Spencer was easy to keep in check. Floyd had rarely had a problem with him and when a problem did arise it was usually a good excuse to slap him. It irritated Floyd when Spencer took things to the line... that line which Spencer knew he must not cross. So sitting back in the room Floyd made a decision to move the line again. He'd already had to caution Spencer about the teeth thing and Spencer seemed to have responded to that very quickly. Too quickly. He needed something else now.

Sam... Sam was not so easy to keep in check. Sam was a mouth brat who would happily get everyone into trouble just to see the fireworks. He was another who responded to sudden pain quite well. Floyd looked over at him sitting with his back squashed into the corner and a trickle of blood running out of his nose. It had been a light tap... just enough to draw blood, and the reason had simply been that Sam had looked at him funny.

Fine... Sam hadn't looked at him. But it was Sam or Spencer and Spencer was not giving Floyd much of an excuse. There was also the matter that Floyd didn't want Spencer mentioning the two blokes who had spoken to them earlier.

Then there was Levin... Levin who responded very well to fear. The Seraphim was living in a world of terror. Nothing Floyd could do to him would make things worse for Levin. Sure he could mangle his pretty face and give him a split lip, but...

… but there was so much more pleasure in killing something when it was beautiful.

The room had gone silent. Sam's sniffing and Levin's sobs were the only sounds. Spencer had not said a thing against what Floyd had done... not a thing.

'I'm going out.' Floyd jumped to his feet. 'Don't leave the room.'

'Can I come with you?' That was Sam's slightly nasally voice and Floyd didn't bother answering him.

Floyd looked at Levin. 'About a ten minute walk from here, deeper into the maze of streets is a place called The Fountain of Bones. It's a beautiful place. A large – bowl – in the ground full of water. The place is dark and damp and there's even plant life growing there. The water isn't all that deep, but it's infested with insects and weird eyeless fish things and croaking frogs with all the eyes the fish are missing. There's huge bloated wet, grey things which slide across the ground, yet it is also beautiful. Stay here.'

Floyd hoped that was enough of an explanation.

He stood the other side of the door... taking deep breaths... hoped it was an explanation? He lied so much now, about most everything he said that even his thoughts were lies. He rubbed at his temples and counted to ten. There were no sounds from beyond the door, so assuming no one was going to follow, Floyd left, checking his skinning knife was in place.

Back in the room, Levin had a crease on his brow. It was the closest he'd ever come to frowning in public. He rubbed at it and looked at Sam and then looked over at Spencer.

'For the life of me... Has he lost his marbles?' Levin asked.

'He's never had any.' Sam moaned. 'He's just a bastard.' A sniff. 'And I don't care about you two, well at least I don't care about Spencer, but I'm not sticking around so he can hit me again.

Levin said nothing but his lips parted as though he might, and that crease disappeared. Spencer though shook his head. 'Can you at least wait until I can come with you?'

Sam now was the one who was frowning. 'Why do you want to come with me? You don't like me. I'll get you killed. You'll not live long. I'll make sure of that. You'll get in the way. You're stupid. You killed yourself to be with him, so why do you want to leave? He stayed with you. He stayed and waited and he was there with you... Levin too. He stayed with him... Me? Oh me... yes Sam, it's only Sam... Sam doesn't matter. Sam doesn't need comfort when he's dying. Sam doesn't need to know that there's someone out there who cares...'

'I'd hardly say that sitting watching me die and then eating parts of me, was showing that he cared.' Levin pointed out. 'And it was you who put the knife in my chest and left me...'

'I was talking about me... not you. I died in a ditch. I was left to die there alone with no one. He let someone else kill me. He didn't even do it himself. He didn't give a shit then and he doesn't give a shit now. I hate him.' Sam stumbled to his feet, tripped on the chain and fell to the floor again. 'I fucking hate you Flanders!' He called out. But Floyd was long gone by then. 'Why does he hate me so much? Why does he do this?'

Spencer who was sitting on the side of the bed leaned forwards. 'He does that to you because he knows how strong you are.' Spencer tried to reason with Sam. 'If he'd done that to me or to Levin then we'd not have come here with him... can't you see that? I'm just... well just...'

'A cock sucking bitch.' Sam helped him out.

'A mortal.' Spencer corrected. 'I have nothing special about me. I'd not be here if... I couldn't find my own way here. I don't know about Levin. I don't know enough about him, but I guess he's special in his own way, but still needed help to get here... you though... you are so very special that Floyd knew that you'd be able to do this. You're strong. You're focused. You're unique in so many ways.' Spencer had spent a considerable amount of time with Floyd and a lot of time with Sam too. He knew now how to play the boy. What to say to him... how to make him happy. 'Floyd needs you. He needs you, and that is why you were created. Don't you see how special you are? How... how... beautiful and...'

'You think I'm beautiful?' Sam asked.

'Even with a slightly swollen nose... yes.' Spencer sort of lied.

'Oh.' Sam pulled himself back into the corner. 'And Lev, do you think I'm beautiful?'

'Beautiful, intelligent, soft, and strong...'

'Soft and strong? You make me sound like a man sized tissue – with balsam.' Sam whined, but there was a bit of a smile on his face now. 'Fine, I'll stay.'

The medic arrived. Prodded Spencer's leg and told him he'd live. He didn't remove the dressing to see under it... Floyd wasn't there. He wasn't going to get paid. He was leaving. Spencer was told to walk on it... it was only bruised. Nothing that wouldn't soon get better. All the time he was talking to Spencer though, he was looking at Sam and Levin who were sitting with arms around each other. It almost looked as though the man was going to ask something, but he never did. He just left, slamming the door behind himself with what Spencer thought was actual disappointment. Again he wondered what the fee had been to fix him... and slowly he unravelled the bandages to see that the poultice had dried to a hard lump and the swelling indeed had gone down considerably. Levin checked the wound on his arm and pronounced that Almost Better – and so all Spencer needed now to feel like his old self was clothing which didn't smell of some old toilet on a summer day.

The toilet in the room was a raised rim on the floor. It wasn't something you sat on, but rather squatted over. Not something any of them wanted to do. If you listened carefully, you could hear things squishing around down there. Things which could, maybe, leap up and bite you somewhere sensitive... so they'd all avoided it, used a metal bucket and emptied it.

And they waited... Levin waited with his blank expression. Spencer wondered what the man was thinking about... he was sure that his mind was not on where he had his hands. That seemed to just be a natural thing The Seraphim could do without having to think about it. Again it caused Spencer to think of Levin as being a well tuned whore. There seemed to be nothing more to him. There was no personality... no humour... nothing to him at all, but that pretty face and fine clothing. Sam seemed restless, his eyes flicking between looking at Levin and looking at the door. He was waiting for Floyd as much as Spencer was... and it seemed like an airless and hot wait.

'It's so hot.' Spencer moved from where he'd left a sweaty patch on the bed.

'We're in hell. What did you expect?' Levin said. 'It's only going to get hotter.' Yet Levin still sat there in his dark red leather coat with the jewels encrusted over the shoulders and the ends of the sleeves. It made Spencer sweat just looking at him.

Levin fell asleep with his pretty head on Sam's lap. Spencer sat on the bed, having moved once again to a dry place... the stink coming from the clothing was enough to make him gag, but he was not going to get naked with Sam and Levin and no Floyd for protection. He sat and stared at the door, sweat dripping down his face and stinging his eyes... making his lips sore. There was no water to drink and only some of the horribly bitter ale which Sam sipped on occasionally. Footsteps outside the room... a creaking. Spencer didn't know whether to dive off the bed and hide or pull the bedding over him and hope he didn't die of the heat. Something told him that whoever it was outside the room wasn't Floyd. He could feel that his breathing had changed to short, shallow and fast breaths of panic. The sweat increased. He could feel it running down his sides and trickling down his spine. A rough hand movement wiped the sweat moustache he'd been beading on his upper lip. The creaking happened again... was that a sigh?

Water plopped off the end of Spencer's nose making him jump slightly as the door began to open. Desperately Spencer looked around for a weapon. They were going to die.

Those two gingers were back and were going to kill him and Levin and take Sam... Spencer readied himself to shout at Sam to run...

'Hey.'

It was Floyd.

Spencer dropped back onto the bed. He could feel his limbs shaking, the room was spinning... the air was so dense that he couldn't pull in a breath.

'Babes?' A hand was on the side of his face. 'Sam get something for him to drink... he's about to pass out.'

'Well it's not my job to keep him hydrated. He's been acting odd for the last few hours.' Sam got up and brought a cup of ale over. 'Where've you been? Did it cross your mind that we might have been worried? Spencer's been acting all out of sorts and you've been behaving like someone put maggots in your brain and Levin fell asleep... it's been... how can I put it? Entertaining.' Sam helped Spencer have a drink and then sat on the edge of the bed. He reeled off quickly what the medic had said and forwarded his hopes that they could get moving again... to somewhere else... because this part of hell was... hellishly boring.

'I got you something.' Floyd smirked at Sam. 'I got you all something. Wake Levin up.'

Sam and Floyd squeezed Levin into a cute little greyish green corset which pulled in his waist and looked very uncomfortable. At least Spencer thought it looked uncomfortable. The leather it was made of was strange and slightly wonderful though. It had a polished look to it. Levin was also provided with red silk knee breeches which had a pretty amount of ribbon and lace at the hem. Spencer gave a tight lipped smile as Levin stood there in this very strange get up. Spencer thought it gave him some sort of hope that Floyd had got him something like that too. Levin pulled his coat on again and covered it all up, but he was smiling. At least until Floyd told him to put the leg irons back on again.

Sam got a highly polished silver mirror, some ribbons for his hair, a brush and a nit comb... and some scented water – the room soon stank of over ripe roses. Sam also got a sleeveless leather jerkin and a brace of knives on a belt he could wear over his shoulder. Sam was happy. Sam was very happy. He sat brushing his hair and admiring himself in the mirror which was about the size of his hand. Easy to carry... and unbreakable.

Floyd then went back to the bed and sat down next to Spencer. 'I've got you something too.' Floyd rummaged in a pocket and asked Spencer to close his eyes and put out his hand. Sam and Levin were watching closely. They wanted to make sure that what Spencer got wasn't nicer than the gifts they'd been given.

The thing put in Spencer's sweaty palm was warm and damp. He closed his fingers around it was a frown formed on his face. At first he thought it was a wet, slightly spongy ball. But he opened his eyes and looked down at the wondrous gift Floyd had bought for him.

'An apple.' Spencer said. His lips felt strange and fuzzy and numb. His heart was pounding in his chest. He would have liked to have thrown this fantastic gift at the wall, but he didn't. He dug the tips of his fingers into the bruised and slightly wrinkled looking object and repeated. 'An apple.'

'You have no idea of the lengths I had to go to to find that. They're very rare down here.'

'Thank you.' Spencer lifted it to his nose and sniffed. It had a strong... ripe apply scent. Not the sort of thing you'd want to eat though. The juice was running out over Spencer's fingers where his nails had broken the skin. He blinked at it, moved it to his other hand and licked his fingers. 'Thank you Floyd.' He said... He wanted to cry. He wanted to shout and rage and tell Floyd that he would have liked something to wear that didn't stink of a dead man's last bodily functions. He wanted to tell Floyd that he didn't want his gift, but the man was watching him closely.

'Eat it.' Instructions from Floyd. 'Things from up top... as it were... they don't last long. They rot quickly... eat it. Now.' It was not a request.

'I could keep it.' Spencer said.

'You don't like it.' Floyd went to take it back again.

'NO!... No... Floyd I love it, it's just that once I've eaten it, then it's gone.'

'That's generally what happens with apples. Eat it. I want to see you enjoy it. I want to see those big teeth of yours biting into it. Give them a purpose... eat the apple, Spencer.'

Spencer looked over at Levin who had that crazy corset thing on and a pair of red silk breeches... then at Sam preening himself in the mirror, tying ribbons in his hair... and he looked down at the apple and smiled at it. He wanted to ask if he could cut it in half or quarters. He wanted to check there was nothing growing inside it which ought not be there, but that was showing mistrust and he had no reason to think that Floyd wanted him dead... Oh... he was already dead... he knew that, but what harm could an apple really do? He lifted it again to his nose. It had a smell of cider to it... the lovely scent of pressed apples. He could feel his mouth watering. Did it matter what it looked like? He did eat apples. Floyd knew that. Floyd had found something for him which he thought he'd like. And did he need a mirror or ribbons? No. Did he want red silk breeches and a strange corset? No to that as well. He turned the apple so that the bruised side was furthest from his mouth and took a bite. It was sweet and juicy. There was a wondrous explosion of sweet apple in his mouth and it actually wasn't even close to tasting as bad as it had appeared to be. Spencer closed his eyes and took another bite, another... the core, the pips... the little stork... the lot was gone in four or five bites and now he was slowly opening his eyes and lifting his hand to Floyd's face...

It was an offer Floyd couldn't refuse.

'You want me to eat your hand?'

'No.' Spencer licked his lips. 'Taste the apple juice.'

'You want your hand to be licked... ask Sam.' But Floyd was smirking in an amused way as he took Spencer by the wrist and carefully licked up all the sticky sweet apply syrup from Spencer's hand and fingers. 'You taste delicious.'

'Thank you. Thank you for the apple.'

'Well they're hard to find. I could have got you some clothes or something fancy, but that would have been easy.'

Spencer nodded. 'Yet these breeches are itchy.'

'And they stink. I'll find you something eventually. You surely didn't want red silk?'

'No... cotton. It's too hot here for silk. Levin must be sweltering in all that stuff.'

It seemed it was time to change the subject. Floyd removed his coat and dropped it to a puddle of dark cloth on the floor. He then lay on the bed and invited Spencer to return the favour and do some licking of his own. Sam and Levin were engrossed in each other and Spencer had become used to doing things in front of them.

'Can I ask you something?'

'Shoot... just lick at talk... if you can... and there...' Floyd guided Spencer's hand to his abdomen. '...perfect... talk.'

'When Levin removed his coat and you and Sam laced him into that corset thing... there were no bruises or marks on him... how did he heal so quickly?'

'He is The Seraphim. He can take it... now... there...' Again Floyd guided Spencer.

'Why isn't he dying with all those clothes on?'

'He's The Seraphim. Born of fire... he doesn't much feel the heat... at least not as we do.'

'Can he burn?'

'Want to set fire to him? Can you do your experiments in the Combustibility of The Seraphim and Other Unworldly Creatures, later?'

The four of them slipped into a slumber full of sweat, twitching and occasional yelps. There is only so much rest Floyd could take though and so he left them sleeping and went down to see if there was anything going on down there which could hold his interest for more than five minutes.

It seemed not.

The bard was twanging something soulful in the corner and so it was to him that Floyd went, pulling up a stool and sitting facing him... watching those long fingers slide over the little harp which was sitting on the young man's knee.

'Sing to me.' Floyd told him.

The man looked up at Floyd and twitched a smile. 'What do you want? Some battle ballad. A love song? Something to sooth your aching – whatever aches?'

'A battle ballad. Give me blood and death... I need some desperation and fear. Not my own, you understand. Yours.'

'My desperation? My fear?'

'Your blood and your screams... sing... or I'll make you sing the song my heart really desires.'

The man started to look nervous. His collar length brown hair was clean... his clothes too seemed clean as did the feather in his hat. 'The Song of the Dying.' He muttered as he tweaked out a couple of notes.

'Take your hat off.' Floyd interrupted... not waiting for the man to remove it, but swept it off his head where it landed it a sticky puddle of spilt drink on the floor. 'Look at me when you sing. You're singing to me, not yourself.'

'There will be tears in the river...' He started. 'You will be missed...' _twangly twang_ 'You never said goodbye... There are flowers in the river...' He didn't get further...

Spencer woke up as Floyd crept back into the room some hours later. He was stuck to the bedding and so hot and dizzy he thought this was it... the end... he was going to die... He sipped on some of the ale and looked across the room at Sam and Levin... curled up, snoring lightly.

'How can they sleep like that?'

'Sam is a minor demon and Levin is created from fire... could be the reason?' Floyd tickled Spencer under the chin with a feather. 'We could leave today. I've been considering different places to go and where I'm going to get the answers I need and I think that the jungle is a poor idea. You should have told me... reminded me... or at least objected in some manner... but no. We'll cross The Lava Bridge and move onwards that way. There's great cities out there where I can get hold of proper money and I can get you some cotton breeches. There's nothing here suitable. Silk is far too hot to wear at this temperature. It'll stick to you like a second skin... and show every crease and curve and dip on your body... and those are my special places.' He threw the feather to the side. 'So... Spencer, the time will come when I will have to...'

Spencer put a finger on Floyd's lips. 'No...' A quick shake of the head. 'I don't want to hear of endings. I can't bare the idea of not having you with me. I don't want to think or consider or choose anything, so please, do not ask.'

'I was going to ask...'

'No.' A firmer voice this time. 'You want me to tell you how I'd rather die.'

Floyd's face flashed a look of puzzlement and then smoothed out again. It was horribly like the way Levin shielded his emotions. 'Fine. I'll choose, but I wasn't going to ask that.'

'I'd rather you didn't. Can't we just carry on, the pair of us... just the two of us...'

'And leave them behind?' Floyd gestured at Sam and Levin.

'They're happy.'

'I can't.' Floyd gave Spencer a long hard look. 'You dislike Sam that much?'

'Not at all. I dislike Levin that much.'

'So much you'd see him dead?'

Spencer laid back on the bed again, but didn't answer the question. 'Tell me about this lava bridge thing... talk to me about what we're going to see. I know that this isn't meant to be a vacation, but I need you to talk... I need to hear your voice. You keep disappearing – going off – that feather... it was in the hat of the guy doing the music.'

'Ah.' Floyd replied. 'Do my actions upset you?'

'I don't know what your actions are. You sneak out and play your games out of view. I can only assume that this is because I'll not approve of what you're doing.'

'You'd not approve. I don't have the time or energy to spend hours trying to explain to you the politics of this place. It's just easier.'

Spencer chewed on his thumb nail for a while as he watched Floyd pull his waistcoat off. Floyd looked ruffled and damp. 'I would like to know a little more than I do, though. Not the politics... you're right. I'd never understand it. And if I did, then I'd not approve and one ex FED isn't going to make too much of a difference doing a one man protest outside some demonic embassy in hell. So no... you're correct. It would take too long and you seem about ready to leave. What I'd like to have though... is less... no... more information and less surprises. I'd like you to curb whatever impulses you're getting to go out killing. I want you to admit that even down here creatures have the right to live – if you can call this living. If you ever felt anything for me – and I'm sure you did once, please just do that for me.'

Floyd waved his hand in the direction of the sleeping companions. 'Everyone has a purpose in life. It's why you are created. It's why your parents fucked and made you. You did some good stuff, Babes. You saved lives. That was the whole point in your life. You weren't made to procreate or give your seed to someone who could... you know? You had a place on the playing board and every playing board has a game in play at some point and every game comes to an end... doesn't matter how much of a cheat you are... it will end... and when you play with the masters, you can't win. It's that simple. The game came to a sudden and crashing end, and I cheated... I even begged a little. It's a blinding pain when you are told that the playing piece is to be taken away... fewer and fewer pieces are there and substitutes are only good for a short while. They crumble. Then the board is swept clean and we start over again.'

'Is this meant to be making sense?'

Floyd nodded. 'Anthony... had reached the end of his path. I guarded him... I might have even loved him. He looked a bit like you.' Floyd twitched a smile. 'Though I doubt that idea gives you too much pleasure. It had reached that point... I'd begged. I'd asked for an extension... I was ignored. Either I took him off the playing board or they did... so... well you know... Same with Little River. For the gods... that man was beautiful. Skin like a polished nut... hair that shone blue in the sun... dark blue... you know what I'm talking of. So strong... such clever hands. Again... he's gone. I'll never see him again. It hurts.' Spencer said nothing. Was this meant to make him feel sorry for him? If so, it was not working. 'Then you. Now with Anthony and Little River I only knew them for a few years. I only knew them as adults. You're different. I can not allow them to take you from me. I refused to end your life myself... they would have destroyed you in a way which I'd never be able to see you again. I couldn't have that. So I forced you to kill yourself. A whole body. A beautiful corpse... my god, you died in a way I've never seem before. It was fantastic. It hurts my soul just thinking of the way you lay there, slowly cooling... the blood pooling downwards in your body. The crazy way your skin changed colour, like dark purple and red marble.'

'Enough.' Spencer really didn't want to hear this.

'No... you asked and I'm telling you. I'm trying to tell you. I want you. I need you forever. Sam... Sam will die. Levin will go eventually too, but you? Never. I'll turn my back on that fucking forest. I'll never see the old woman again. I'll throw it away... but I will be with you.'

'No.' Spencer felt silly. He felt as though he wanted to stick his fingers in his ears.

'Yes.' Floyd grabbed Spencer's hands and rubbed his thumbs over the back of his hands. 'For an eternity. Nothing can stop... nothing until time ends... Ask Sam about Entropy.'

'I don't need to.'

'Then you know. The further we descend, the deeper into chaos. It will get worse, Babes. Nothing here will ever improve. We'll see great cities, marvellous creatures and eat fantastical food... and ride on the back of striped, and hairy beasts, but chaos will follow. It's dragged along behind us like the curse we are. Tomorrow... the day after... soon... soon The Seraphim will die.' Floyd paused. 'I'll make very sure of that.'

'Why?'

'Because he is what he is... and to keep you I have to follow the orders of the ones I've put my money on.'

'What about The Great Forest and your need to return. You can't throw that away.'

'Too late. Already done. Now... get ready... we leave at first... well... when they wake.'

So he was acting the martyr. It was a side of Floyd not seen often, but when it _was_ seen, it was not to be believed. He'd just run out of lies for some reason, or was distracted... but the little speech gave no answers to anything, except it made Spencer wonder exactly what was going to happen to him and how much longer life was going to drag on... because this was a drag. He wanted to be with Floyd... yes! Of course he did, but like this? No.

'That cabin in the woods is looking very nice right now.' Spencer muttered. 'I asked you to tell me about the lava bridge. How can we cross it if it's made of lava?'

Floyd was throwing pillows at Sam and Levin and telling them to wake up. It was the crack of something which might as well be dawn, and time to leave. 'Get ready. Pack anything you want to take in pockets and if you can't carry it, I've a shoulder bag... so nothing too heavy.' Floyd then gave Spencer a withering look. 'The bridge goes _over_ the lava. It's made of stout stone which will not break or bend or melt... still best to keep moving though.'

'Uh.' Sam jumped to his feet. 'The Lava Bridge? I don't want to cross that. We've nothing to give the bloke. What will we pay him with?'

'Let me worry about that.' Floyd let him know, but a cold silence passed between the four of them as they packed away the very few things they had. Spencer hoped that Floyd had a plan... a plan beyond thinking that he'd worry about such things later. A better plan than not having a plan... any sort of plan which didn't involve killing them.

Spencer wanted to know what the point of this trip was. Where were they going? Was this just a slow trot to a slow death so that Floyd could get a tick in the correct box for a change? He knew so very well, that he shouldn't ever trust Floyd. Floyd was the most untrustworthy person he'd ever met. He made no promises... he never apologised... he always thought he was right and he changed his mind constantly. With one breath he was saying he had everything under control and with the next he was blaming everyone else for things turning sour.

'A plan?' Spencer found he was asking, and for what point! Why bother asking such a thing. Floyd would only lie about it.

'Of course.' And there it was!

'The truth?' Spencer asked now.

'Truth? Only fools tell the truth. Are you ready?'

For now the collar wasn't used, but Sam and Levin were both back in leg irons and one of them – not Levin – was complaining bitterly about the harsh treatment he was getting from someone who was meant to love and care for him. Floyd ignored Sam's whining and held Spencer's hand, leading the way and letting Levin and Sam fall in behind.

Spencer noted the way the buildings, though higher than he could see... really they just carried on up and never seemed to end... they spread out though... the roads as such, became wider. The side passages became less like passages and more road like. The houses had cloth dangling from windows and door ways – coloured silks fluttered in a hot airless breeze. There were more signs above what seemed to be shops... things displayed in glassless windows. Women and men standing leaning on walls watching the people passing. Some held out what Spencer thought were begging bowls, some had children clinging onto aprons or sucking at teats... some had no clothes on and some were dressed in a fashion not unlike Levin... long leather or velvet coats of every colour Spencer could imagine. There were things which could pass as dogs, cats, real rats... and then there were the ones which honestly, now Spencer could see them properly, they did look different. Oh of course they looked like children, but there was almost a black aura around them, like a million buzzing insects, floating there, following them... Some had eyes which glinted in the shadows or reflected the bright colours of the leathers and silks hanging from doors and windows, but themselves... they seemed dull and lifeless. Spencer wanted to ask Floyd about them, but they were _rats_... that would be what Floyd would tell him. There really was no need to question it. That however didn't mean that Spencer thought it was fine to kill them. They were still intelligent beings and still they had lives they were trying to live. Spencer noted that Floyd seemed to be looking into every shadow and doorway. He wanted to ask him if he was looking for the ginger guy with the eye patch, but thought it wise not to point out that Floyd's nervousness – if it could be called that – was so obvious that he had noted it. Best to just let Floyd concentrate on what was going on. Floyd also kept checking that Sam and Levin where still there. And indeed they were. Spencer thought it very unlikely that Sam would run off now and Levin seemed more than content to stay with them... yet there was the constant threat that Floyd was going to do something to all of them.

He felt Floyd's hand tighten around his and he looked down at their hands and then up at Floyd's face. 'Is there something wrong?'

'Not yet.' Was the reply. 'You're not thinking of running off are you?'

Spencer responded by squeezing Floyd's hand back. 'Absolutely not. Where would I go?'

Floyd gave a one shouldered shrug and eased up a bit on the clamp like hold he had. 'Just that things might get messy.'

Such comforting words. Messy – now that could mean anything. 'When?'

'Not now.' And that was the end of it. Floyd didn't seem to want to discuss it further and so for now Spencer let it go. It was a warning though.

The streets seemed to spread out wide enough for small paved squares. Some had small fountains in the middle of them with towering statues of what Spencer assumed were gods or demons of some sort. Some had waxy residue around them as though thousands of candles had been burning there. Some had bits of bone scattered in front of them... others had dozens of kneeling people. A few had heads on spikes... or limbs... limbs which seemed to glow. It was at this point that Levin moved up next to them and took Floyd's arm in his gloved hand.

'I had a dream about this.'

'You had a memory about this maybe, but not a dream.'

'What are they? Why do they glow?' Levin sounded as though he was going to break out into sobs of fear.

'The limbs of children, I'd think. They're not very big.' Floyd replied. 'They are farmed and then put in the mould gardens where the fungus grows over flesh... it is sort of luminous or Fluorescent and burns the skin if you touch it... chemical buns, so don't even think of trying to remove them. It's just a way to give light without having to burn precious oils. This is a holy... anti holy... no... It's a place of quiet thought and contemplation. It's a resting place for the mind and spirit... it's a place we're not hanging around in... come on.' Floyd shoved Levin back to walk next to Sam and they carried on.

The buildings became further and further away from each other and the actual structures were narrower, like tall black columns going forever upwards... doors and windows at the base and curling and winding on and up until the colours were like flags on the top of castle towers. There were tents now... occasionally lean-to buildings made of what seemed to be impossibly big bones and leather and rags all tied together and there were spikes growing out of the rocky floor... wooden spikes which might have once been trees, metal spikes which might have once been... well... metal spikes... Spencer couldn't see a reason for them apart from the colours fluttering from the top. Some were the hight of a man... some twenty foot tall and some were so small that you could tread on them if not careful. They all seemed to be barbed. Some had what looked to be bits of flesh stuck to them and then when they saw a man impaled on one with the spike blooming out of his chest... at that point Spencer stopped looking at them and wondering what they were for.

The columns of rock eventually ended and in their place were more of the coloured tents and pavilions. The ground was slightly soft under foot and the people kept their distance, yet the sky was still coal black and the only light was coming from fire pits, lanterns and glowing body parts which were hanging across the way like some creepy bunting. Street lighting. This felt almost familiar though. The pavilions were of the sort he'd seen before and the floor had that almost rubbery feel he'd expected from the beginning, yet he could not remember how far back... how long ago the floor had changed.

The people here were all very brightly attired and mostly they seemed to be in knee breeches and fancy jackets made of gaudy velvets and lace. It was as though they'd walked from one world and into another. The air here was still hot and stuffy, but the stench of boiled bones and rotting flesh had gone. There was certainly a background smell of human waste, but over that was a strong scent of incense and candles. Spencer could hear running water from somewhere and in the far distance was a very strange orange glow. He'd had thought it a sun rise or maybe a sun set, but he knew it couldn't be. The women here were in long dresses which swept along on the ground, but the top half of the dresses seemed to stop just under the breasts, pushing them up and over flowing onto the bodice of the dresses which were in colours just as bright and – dare he think – revolting as the men had on. As they walked closer Spencer noted that the men were wearing odd high heeled shoes – two inches high maybe, with buckles, lace... ribbons... he couldn't see the feet of the women as the clothing appeared to be too long. There were children too, but they stood out because of the lack of colour. They seemed to all be wearing white smocks... it was hard to tell the boys from the girls. They all had long hair and they all had smocks on. The men... as well as the women had makeup... white powdered faces, lips made red... and blush on the cheek bones. If Spencer had been asked what he thought of this place he would have labelled it _creepy_... very creepy.

'What's that glow?' But as soon as he said it, he knew. 'The lava we mean to cross?' He answered himself and Floyd therefore had no reason to answer as well.

'How much do you trust me?' Was what Floyd actually said.

That was a leading question and Spencer didn't want to have to answer it... but the tightening of Floyd's hand around his was an indication that a reply was needed. 'I died for you. I trusted that you'd be waiting for me. I think that means that I trust you completely.' Though why he did was another question and he hoped Floyd wouldn't delve that deep. Floyd's emotions were there for everyone to see, Spencer attempted to conceal his a bit... just a bit and this was because showing happiness when Floyd wanted sad... or showing too much love when Floyd was not in the mood... it all lead to a bad and painful place. Better to keep things hidden... teeth included.

'The Bridge Keeper will ask for a fee. We will have to pay it to cross.'

'We're not talking about money are we?'

Floyd shook his head. 'We are rather more talking about The Seraphim. But before you go off on one and start to complain and tell me what a class A bastard I am, remember that he will die and be reborn in fire.'

'No.' Spencer told Floyd. 'You surely not... you're not considering... Not throwing him into the lava?'

'No... no... Spencer... no... not considering it at all. All considering took place weeks ago... maybe even before I ate part of him. All that was long ago sorted. He knows. He might not like it, but he knows... Don't fucking give me that damned look! Where do you get the damned gall to try to force your will on me? I told you... you have to be ruthless. You cannot show weakness. Not here Spencer. Not ever. Show one kink in your armour and you're dead. The Seraphim will come back to us. Later... later on... he'll show up again. He's sort of bound, but don't stop me from doing what we have to do. It's the payment that will be made. I'll not change my mind. I will cross that bridge with you and Sam.'

Spencer muttered something under his breath which got him a punch in the side of the face hard enough to knock him off his feet. Spencer didn't see it coming and even if he had, he'd not have defended against Floyd. He skidded along the floor, the rubbery surface burning exposed bits of flesh and taking a layer of skin off the side of his ribs. It was Sam who came clanking and running to help him, but Spencer didn't need Sam's help. He pushed him away and told him to return to Levin. And slowly got back to his feet. He could taste blood in his mouth where his teeth had cut the inside of his cheek. He spat out, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and wordlessly returned to stand next to Floyd. For a while the four of them stood in silence.

'You're attitude will get you killed.' Floyd finally spoke.

'I had to say how I was feeling.'

'For sure. I had to try to knock some of your teeth out. Now we're even.'

Again what was going on around them changed. The floor remained that rubbery feeling of a sports floor and that orange glow was less distant, but the pavilions were much more spaced out. Large metal cages hung from ornate poles and inside of the metal cages were bodies covered in the strange glowing mould. It was the only light to see by though and it was vile and it was not something Spencer would recommend for the Vegas strip, but it was a light source and it stopped them from feeling as though they were walking in circles.

Sam and Levin were muttering between the pair of them. Spencer attempted to listen in on what was being said, but he only caught the occasional word and that didn't really help. He wanted to know if Levin had any idea of his fate. Spencer wanted to be brave – no... Spencer wanted to be stupid enough to turn to Levin and tell him to run. It would be the last thing Spencer ever did, he was sure of that much, but the thought that they were slowly walking to the place where Levin was going to be sacrificed for them... well that made him feel sick.

'I can't.' Spencer finally said as the last of the tents sprawled out behind them.

'Can't what?'

'Can't sit back and let you do this. It's murder and...'

'Murder. Now you have an opinion on my lifestyle? After all these years you finally tell me that you don't appreciate the methods I use to keep you alive.'

'This isn't for me though, is it?'

Floyd twitched a smirk at Spencer. 'No. This is entirely for me. My own self. And you are going to have to put up with it Spencer, because I'll beat you bloody and drag you over the fucking bridge if you don't come willingly.'

The bridge stood about ten foot wide and maybe two hundred foot long. There stood a small canvas tent and a man outside of it wearing a pair of cotton shorts and a metal breastplate. He was bald and had only one ear. In place of the missing one was a deep purple coloured gash in the side of his head. He hailed them with a wave of the hand and gestured for them to walk closer. And it was now that Floyd turned to Sam and Levin and after giving Sam a look which was so intense and holding so much of a warning, that Sam took a step back, leaned forwards and vomited onto the floor. The hot puke splashed his legs... and was now mixed with blood and snot. Sam was making a fine mess on the nice black rubbery floor. Levin was pulled forwards and now Floyd was turning to look at Spencer, but after seeing the effects of _the stare _on Sam, Spencer averted his own eyes and looked away, looked at Sam... looked away from Levin who was squalling like a child as the chains rattled and he was begging...

'Please no... please... please don't... please.'

Spencer hunkered down with his back to Floyd and Levin. He kept his eyes on Sam who was himself howling for Floyd to stop... for someone to stop him. 'Don't! Floyd don't...' And when Spencer squeezed his eyes shut and tears managed to tumble out and down his face and unable to watch Sam now, who was on his knees blubbing and shooting filth from all orifices... Spencer couldn't help. He was immobile... cowardly... trying to cut out Sam's crying and pleading for someone to help Levin. But when he cut out Sam's cries all he could hear were Levin's.

He didn't see what went on between Floyd and the Bridge Keeper. He didn't see Floyd pull his knife and push Levin in front of him to the edge of the river of lava. He could hear Levin's screams... girlish and high pitched... then the sound stopped and all he could hear was Sam.

When Floyd touched Spencer on the shoulder he let out a scream of his own. He was still immobilised by the horror of what Floyd had just done. He couldn't look at him. He couldn't look at Sam... who Spencer was sure, had just had his heart broken...

'I warned you. I said it'd get messy.' Floyd grabbed Spencer's hand. 'You didn't think I'd just throw him into the lava did you? What sort of a cunt do you think I am? I'd do that to no person... I cut his throat first. He felt nothing.'

That was meant to make everything better. That was supposed to be the right thing to do? It didn't change the fact that Floyd killed someone just so they could cross a bridge, and before you even think that Spencer was getting feelings for Levin... no... you don't have to like someone to feel that murdering them was wrong! And Sam, now curled up on the floor howling like a dog... still puking... bleeding from his nose and telling Floyd that he'd hate him forever and and never kiss his dick again.

'I'm not going with you.' Sam snapped at Floyd when he was told to get moving.

'You are. I need you.' Floyd growled back with annoyance.

'Need me? What for?'

Floyd licked his lips. 'You're mine. I'll do to you what I feel is necessary. Just don't force my hand.' He took Spencer by the hand. 'Now we cross.'


	13. Chapter 13

Pop-Up Tent.

Spencer knew that if Levin had died so that they could cross this bridge, then he was going to cross it! Sam seemed to have lost the use of his legs, brain, bladder and stomach. Even Floyd telling Sam that he never looked pretty when he was covered in piss and snot, didn't help Sam. And Spencer could well understand why it wouldn't.

There had been times when Floyd had driven Spencer to these sort of points. The times when washing seemed too much of an effort. Those days he turned up at work with dirty hair and clothes which looked as though he'd slept in them – and usually had. There were days when he was unable to eat or drink without bringing it straight back up again... times when he had to... desperately had to find something to stop the hurt – not the physical hurt, but the emotional hurt. That was a pain which couldn't be seen in blood and bruises. That was a much deeper pain and Spencer didn't think it would ever go away. This … this deep sorrow or maybe fear that Sam was feeling would not go away – it would always be there – as Spencer knew his own would always be there... Sam would just find a way to disguise it, or adjust to it... or maybe he'd just fade away and become a nothing... a creature who hated everything... That fear, not a fear that Floyd would hurt him, Sam was beyond caring about that, at least for now, no... it was a fear that the love he'd felt or thought he'd felt, that wonderful buzzing and stomach turning feeling of love, would never be felt again. That was a fear worth dying over.

Spencer looked at Floyd who he knew hated everything. Was there anything Floyd actively liked? Wine... whiskey... a fast bike and walking in the woods, but other things? The man didn't listen to music. He didn't usually eat fine foods – he didn't seem to keep his general appearance – well, sometimes Floyd was beyond a bit unwashed and heading into the disgustingly vile zone. He liked to be read to. He liked old black and white French movies. But where they loves...? there was a lot more Floyd hated... Dogs, cats, any household pet... dirt on floors, unfolded towels, marks left by coffee mugs on tables, elevators, flying! Oh Floyd hated flying, was sea sick... didn't like driving cars... hated beggars, thieves, women, people of certain skin colours – though Spencer thought that was an excuse just to hate even more – he disliked law enforcement, but that wasn't uncommon. He loathed capped teeth! He didn't like hair which had been coloured – he couldn't abide women in short skirts or tight jeans. And now it seemed Floyd didn't like people staring at him and thinking up things he hated.

'What's wrong with you now?' Floyd was dragging a sobbing Sam by one arm... dragging him across the rubbery floor, leaving a trail of dampness behind him.

'Nothing. Nothing is wrong. Why would there be something wrong?' Spencer got to his feet and rubbed at the small of his back. 'Let's go then.' But Floyd was holding out the small shoulder bag to him.

'Carry it. I'm going to have to carry Sam.'

'Just let me die.' Sam moaned.

'I will. Sam, I promise I will let you die. Is that what you want me to say?'

'No.' Sam whined. 'I want you to love me.'

'Well that's a work in progress. It would be right to wait at least two years after the passing of the greatest love of your life before I woo you... and then there's the matter that Spencer is still alive... well as alive as he's ever going to be – again – and so two years of mourning would be needed for me... and Spencer's not dead yet... and you might go from us before Spence, so that's not actually a promise I can make. I can promise to break your fucking arm if you don't stop wriggling and I can promise to let you die.'

'I hate you.'

Spencer stood and slung the bag over his shoulder. Floyd slung a soggy Sam over his and they walked slowly towards the bridge. With each step Sam wailed louder until Floyd told Sam that it might be kinder to let him to into the lava too... at that point Sam became very quiet.

The little square tent the bald man in shorts and a breast plate had stood in front of seemed to have folded in on itself. Spencer looked down at the pile of fabric laying on the floor and wondered if they'd waited, would Levin still be with them. It was something he didn't want to ask. There was no changing what had happened and Floyd was walking now out onto the beginning of the bridge... and didn't even look back to see if Spencer was following.

Floyd knew Spencer would follow.

Where else would Spencer go? He couldn't go back. He couldn't stay. He'd not throw himself into the lava river, as Levin had thrown himself in... Well, perhaps he was pushed a bit, but actually Floyd would put his hands up and say that it hadn't taken much; in the end Levin just seemed to slip from his hands and fly downwards... combusting before he was swallowed by the molten rock. And Floyd thought in all likelihood that the little rescuers would have flown out and caught that tiny speck of an almost but not quite angel and taken him back to the fires he was spawned in. That's where Levin was now...

Fine! So his throat was cut, but it was the fire that consumed the man... he might have survived the cut to the throat! It was just to silence him.

Who the hell wants to hear some lame fuck screaming like a girl?

No one.

That was all very much beside the point. Spencer would follow. Floyd knew that. He would have bet Sam's life on that. He gave a quick look over his shoulder when he was about ten foot out... better safe than sorry, but yes, Spencer was following. Cautiously.

The bridge, which Spencer initially thought was going to be a nightmare to cross, causing all sorts of trouble and danger, proved to be sturdy. There was a breeze blowing in the left of his face and causing his hair to get in his eyes and stick to his lips... but not enough of a breeze to blow him over the edge. The ground was hard, not the rubbery feeling the floor had... and there was a hip high wall all along the edge too. Really if he blinked the sweat out of his eyes and ignored the searing pain where the sweat was mixing with where he'd skinned his side... if you discounted Sam bouncing over Floyd's shoulder, it could have been a normal bridge somewhere... maybe in Vegas.

They had to walk quickly. No hanging around. If you stood still for too long you could feel the heat being sucked up through your shoes and Spencer had a horrible image of leaving the bottom of his canvas boots behind and having to run as his feet gradually blistered and then cooked. Spencer had expected some sort of hellish creature to be flying around here... a dragon? A monster? But there was nothing. Too many books about demons... or maybe too many visits to hell. His imagination was running away with him and that would have to stop. It was going to be bad enough without him making things worse by picturing monsters flying over the lava.

Spencer wanted to look. He wanted just once to stand at the side and look over the side... he wanted to see if there was anything left of Levin, which was ridiculous and he knew it... so gradually he managed to keep going and stop thinking such foolery.

When they reached the other side, Floyd dropped Sam to the floor and snatched the bag off Spencer. Floyd wanted a smoke. Floyd wanted a drink. Floyd wanted to sit down... and chose Sam to sit upon.

'He's going to have to walk.' Floyd said as he puffed and gestured for Spencer to join him. He did join him, but it was reluctantly. Obvious hesitation.

'You've broken him.' Spencer said as he sat down on the floor next to Sam's feet.

'I've not touched him.' Floyd blew a smoke ring.

'You know what I'm talking about.' Spencer took the shoulder bag and pulled out Sam's brush and mirror. 'and you have no intention of trying to fix him again, do you? Get up... move off him.'

Floyd stood. A deep frown on his face. 'You want me to put this smoke out in your damned eye?'

Spencer pulled Sam closer and got him to sit with his back to him. He placed the mirror in Sam's hands and forced him to look. Then Spencer sat and brushed his hair for him. The ribbons Sam had put in had all fallen out, but just the brushing made things look a lot better. 'When are you going to tell us where we're going?'

Floyd knelt down in front of Sam and Spencer and looked Sam in the eyes. Sam's gaze was firmly in the mirror though. 'Touch me and I'll die trying to kill you.' Sam told him.

'Why all the damned fuss? You stuck a knife in his chest. That was you.'

Sam now put the mirror down and glared at Floyd. 'It was you who killed him. You pulled the knife out. You cut him to bits and ate some... you smashed and mashed him. You did those things, not me, so don't you even start to blame me, because as soon as I realised what I'd done I felt the horror of it and all you did was go and suck marrow from his bones. I hate you. I hate you so much that I might projectile vomit in your face, so you'd best move quickly. I'll have no part of your sick games. You want me dead, then finish it. What fun do you get from this?'

'The same fun I get putting a magnifying glass over an ant.' Floyd snatched the mirror from Sam's hands and turned it to look at himself. 'You see a monster when you look at me. I just see something really handsome.' He threw the mirror back at Sam. 'You're going to walk or I'll drag you by your fucking chains. Get up and get going.'

Sam shambled along the vast emptiness they now seemed to be in. Floyd took Spencer's hand in his entwining their fingers so a quick escape was not possible. There was a light in the distance and that seemed to be where Floyd was heading for. Though what the reason was, Spencer had no idea and he didn't think asking was going to get him very far either. He needed to discuss this situation. He needed to know what this was for... Floyd had said he had to find the person who had killed someone. But since the incident with the two Hunters, Floyd had not made mention of it. Was this a good time? Spencer didn't think it was, but he could feel the pressure building up in his head... he had to ask. He had to know what he was being dragged through hell for.

In the past it had been because Floyd wanted to get back to his forest, but had he really turned his back on that? Was that possible? The Old Woman had been almost a mother to Floyd; had he turned from her too? Was his hatred for everything really driven him to that? If that was true then Spencer held up not much hope for himself.

'So...' Spencer finally said. He had to think of something to get Floyd talking and out of this sulk he seemed to have fallen into, but now he'd started to talk he didn't know what was the next safe thing to say. 'How far is it?' Maybe a stupid question, but the only thing he could think of. 'And are you still looking for that person?'

Now that got Floyd to stop and look around himself. Floyd glanced back at Sam who was standing with his shoulders sagging and his head down. Even in this strange light Spencer could see that Sam was crying. 'Stay there.' Floyd let go of Spencer's hand and walked over to Sam. The distance wasn't so great that Spencer couldn't hear what was being said. 'Can you walk a bit faster?'

'No. I can hardly walk at all. My heart is bleeding into my chest and my brain is swelling in my skull. You killed the only thing that's ever loved me for what I am.'

'A snotty eunuch?'

'You know what I mean. You've said you like me, and you've done nice things, but you've never really loved me. Not like Levin. And you stopped me from trying to help him. You speared me with that evil look of yours and made it so I couldn't move. I'll never forgive you for that. Never. You just hate to see people happy. Unless it's you doing the giving and you being the cause of something nice, then you stop it. You're a selfish shit, Isgar.'

'Levin didn't like you. He certainly never loved you. He was following orders. We all follow orders, Sam. Some are just hard to follow. Levin is born of fire and dies of fire. That's how it works. Right now he's in the comforting womb of some flame... being nurtured and loved. He'll be back, I expect, but don't think he loved you. He kept you happy because I said I'd tear him apart if he didn't.'

'Liar.' Sam snapped back at him. 'You just hate to see people happy. You're a loathsome fucktard and I hope you fall in your own shit and drown.'

Floyd nodded at him, scratching at his forehead. 'Sam... I don't hate to see people happy. Not all people. It's just that you need to earn that, don't you think? Don't you feel that some people really should not have the happiness that life delivers? There's some real happy mother fuckers out there who deserve nothing but cast...' Floyd stopped mid word, but it was too late. Sam knew what he had started to say... _castration_... the exact thing Floyd had done to him.

Spencer moved over quickly to the pair of them. 'There's something out there.' Spencer thumbed over his shoulder... an attempt to distract them both from something which to Spencer looked like another life was going to be lost... not his... not Floyd's either and Spencer didn't actually _want_ Sam dead... 'Can we check it out or keep moving, or something other than standing here trading insults and trying to make each other feel bad?'

'Stick and stones.' Sam said between clenched teeth. 'I'm going to see what's out there. Fuck the both of you. Fuck you both till you drop dead because you've drowned on spunk. I hope you both get a horrible cock and arse disease. I fucking hate you. I don't have words to say how much I hate you! I loved him! Haven't either of you ever loved anyone before? Spencer?'

Spencer said nothing. He wasn't going to be dragged into this game. He had his own games to play out here... he'd never been good at multi-tasking. Floyd and Spencer stood and watched Sam walk away in the direction where there did seem to be something. More spikes coming out of the ground. Bodies... great. Just what Spencer needed right now was to inspect some corpses. At first he didn't move, even though it had been him who had pointed the things out... it was not meant that they had to go and have a look at it. He watched Floyd move fast after Sam.

The light in the distance was catching the occasional twinkle off things in the distance. Bits of metal maybe? There were also flags flapping in the breeze and ribbons, or strips of cloth waving and billowing... from this distance it looked like a circus was in town, though Spencer had no delusions that it was going to be something good. Why would it be... He knew where they were.

And now the smell. Bad enough to force Spencer to pull his Tshirt up over his nose and mouth. He knew that smell all too well and now decided to hang back a bit. Sam though was now running and howling and wailing and Floyd was racing after him telling him to slow down, to stop... to not be lured in... not the believe all he saw. And though Spencer was hanging back... not running to see what was there, he was still walking fast. He didn't want to lose sight of Floyd, who from behind, when running... looked rather spectacular. But that smell! Even through the filter of the old Tshirt Spencer could smell death.

Sam had stopped and Floyd had pulled up next to him. Standing about a hundred foot back from them... that was close enough for Spencer, he could see Floyd wrap an arm around Sam's shoulder. Could see him pulling him close and could see... was that a kiss? Was that a whisper in the ear? A little friendly nibble? Spencer couldn't see from here. He could have gone closer, but no. This was more than close enough. He could see the impaled bodies perfectly well from where he was standing. He could hear the buzz of insects. He could almost hear the decaying corpses dripping onto the floor... The white limbs hanging... the spikes sticking up through stomachs and chest. He didn't want to see that some were still moving. He didn't want to hear those moaning sounds. No... he cut that out and looked back to Floyd and Sam who were now in a very obvious embrace. Floyd either eating Sam's face or kissing him through all that dampness and snot... Now... Spencer knew that facial leakage was another of Floyd's hates. Something must have happened for him to be doing that! Spencer took a few steps forward. Not to see better. Not because he _wanted_ to get closer, but he would like to know what was going on.

'Floyd?' Oh... pathetic! How stupid did that sound even to his own ears. His man – as he saw it – was kissing Sam. Now see me! Don't forget me! That's how it sounded in Spencer's ears. Now even if he'd been standing next to them all he'd have been able to hear would be his heart pounding. Now Floyd was patting Sam on the side of the face, wiping tears away with his fingertips. Stroking a hand down one of Sam's arms.

'We should leave.' That was what Floyd was saying and now was pulling Sam away from the scene of murder.

'I can sense him.' Sam whined.

'No. You can sense a trap. Do you want to end up like them?' Floyd made a grab for Sam's hand but he jumped to the side.

'I need to check.'

'Leave it.' Again Floyd tried to grab Sam and again Sam moved quickly out of the way.

'No! I have to make sure.'

'And if it is what you think? What then? What will you do?'

Sam hunkered down on the floor and put his head in his hands. Floyd rested a hand on the top of Sam's head and gestured for Spencer to join them. He did so. Grudgingly. But at least he'd not been forgotten.

'I need you to stay here with Sam. Don't follow me. I'll not be long.' He took Spencer by the hand and placed it on Sam's head as he removed his own. 'Wait here. If Sam tries to follow, stop him.'

Stop Sam... easier said than done, but Spencer crouched down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

'What's going on?' What he wanted to ask was _Why did Floyd kiss you like that?_ But Sam was crying again... like a child. Always crying. It didn't feel like the right time to show how jealous little displays like that made him.

'There's someone out there we know. I can smell him.' Sam said between his sobs.

'Levin?' It had to be Levin.

'No... not Levin.' Sam turned his face to look at Spencer. 'He did love me. Don't mind what Floyd said. He was just saying that so I'd not feel so torn up by what happened. But he did. I could feel it. He was so loving and kind and gentle. And it's all Floyd's fault that I stabbed him. If he'd not given him bad dreams then Lev wouldn't have attacked me and I'd not have stabbed him. Whatever Floyd says... it was his fault and Lev did love me.'

'Who is out there then?' Spencer didn't know how to respond to the declarations from Sam. This soppy wet sort of love that Sam liked so much, flowers, chocolates and constant love making with words... it wasn't something Spencer had ever had. His love all revolved around violence and pain, fear and hate... that was the sort of love Spencer could accept. He knew that he existed all the time he was feeling that pain. All those bruises he could look in the mirror the day after... The small finger tip marks on his neck and around his hips... that horrific feeling that you were going to lose your internal organs via your backside... that was the sort of love Spencer had been given and that's what he expected everyone to want. Sam though... Sam wanted kind words and loving hands.

'It's not someone you know. Don't worry.' Sam rubbed at his eyes and stared out in the direction Floyd had gone.

'Some are still alive.' Spencer whispered.

'Not for long. Spencer, if that ever happens to me... if I'm stuck on a spike like that, you'd not leave me, would you? I mean... alive. You'd finish me, yes? If that's done properly it misses all the vital organs and comes out next to the heart. You can live for days like it... a spike up the arse, the bowels torn open... but the heart and lungs still working. I don't want to die like that, Spencer. You'd not leave me, would you?'

'Floyd's on his way back.' Spencer ignored what Sam had said and stood up again. Floyd was running towards them. It couldn't have been better timed. Leave Sam if he was left to die like that? No... he'd not be able to leave him. He'd also not be able to kill him. He'd sit and talk to him though. And that wasn't what Sam would have wanted to hear. Sam seemed to have lost interest in what was being said anyway, as he too got to his feet and started walked towards Floyd.

'Done.' Floyd muttered at Sam. 'Now let's go and no more distractions.' The blood on Floyd's hands was obvious, as were the reddish speckles up the side of his face. 'They're going to keep doing this. I think we need to just ignore it and keep going.'

But keep going where? 'Where are we going?' Spencer asked. 'And what have you just done?'

Floyd glanced between his two boys. 'Now you two listen to me and don't ask me stupid questions again. Sam, you got yourself killed. Where else would you end up but where you were spawned? This is your home. Spencer, you died by your own hand; that's why you're here. You'd rather be somewhere dark and miserable alone? No... no you'd not. It's not my fault you both died.'

'Hey...' Spencer started, but was cut off by a Floyd.

'No... no! I'll not accept your whining and moaning. You could have walked away. You had every chance to run off into the sunset with some big strapping muscle fuck, but no, you chose me. You then died. You are here. Stop fucking asking questions you already know the damned answer to! Did you expect to spend your death sitting on a cloud and playing a fucking harp? Well you thought wrong, Babes. You're mine. You know that. I know that. Sam knows it and so does everyone else. Nothing made you follow me here.'

Spencer opened his mouth to express his delight but closed it again. 'Fine.' He finally said. 'But who are you looking for? You're on some kind of mission...'

'Yeah.' Sam added. 'We're not here for fun. You brought us here. You asked about the assassin. So where are we going and who are you going to kill and then what will happen to us?'

Floyd shrugged. 'Towards the light.' He pointed and walked off.

Back on course towards the distant light, Spencer still didn't know what had caused Sam so much grief and Floyd to actually to and do something about it. All he was told was... 'It was no one you knew.' And that was meant to be enough. 'Be aware.' Was something Floyd made sure that Spencer heard. He said it repeatedly until Spencer responded that he would certainly be aware, but of what he still wasn't sure. Tricks? He thought so... tricks of the mind... and was the fact that the light didn't seem to be getting any closer also a trick of the mind... and his knees was aching causing him to limp slightly, which had now made his hip and back hurt. Spencer stooped and rubbed at aching places and watched Floyd and Sam walk onwards. Whatever had happened seemed to have formed a tighter bond between the pair of them. They too kept stopping and whispering in ears and touching gently on arms and faces. Floyd even produced something for Sam to blow his nose on and had they even noticed that he, Spencer, was in pain? Did Floyd care even if he _had_ noticed? They were walking onwards again and Spencer stood rubbing at his hip and looking at Sam's hand clamped over Floyd's right buttock and a deep swelling of anger started to rise in Spencer's mind. He still didn't follow them. He ground his teeth and could feel heat rushing up his body, over his neck and resting in an uncomfortable flush on his face. His left hand was in a fist at his side, the other knuckling at his hip... not because of that ache, but because he had an overwhelming desire to mash it into Sam's face.

Spencer sat, legs crossed in front of him. A protest. Not a tantrum. Spencer didn't have tantrums. Spencer was attempting to make a point here; grinding his teeth until his jaw ached and grinding his fists now into the floor at his side. They'd not even noticed that he wasn't with them. He might as well get up, turn around and go back again. He was hungry, thirsty, in pain... angry beyond all reason and now... at last! Floyd was turning around, holding Sam's hand... it should be _his_ hand being held. It should be him... one dying person they both knew... not Spencer! Oh no... Spencer didn't know who it was and they had no intention of letting him know, either... Spencer got back to his feet, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

'What's wrong?' Floyd asked as he got closer.

'Wrong?' Spencer replied with a snarl to his voice. 'I'm in pain. I need a rest.' He snapped.

'You should have said.' Floyd touched Spencer on the arm and it felt as though a thousand maggots had deposited themselves there.

'When have you ever listened to me? When has what I need or want ever come into the equation? Never! You just assume you know. Or you ignore.' The last word was spat with a degree of venom which made Floyd raise an eyebrow.

'Well, I'm listening. Sam's listening. Tell me.'

'Sam? Sam's listening? Is that meant to mean anything to me? Am I meant to be alarmed that he might not have been?'

Another raised eyebrow and a whimper from Sam. It was all that was needed. Spencer had no idea where it came from. He couldn't remember hurling himself at Sam. It was not the sort of thing he'd do. Spencer would seethe and his head would roil with anger but he'd not attack someone, but there he was, kneeling on Sam's chest, hammering a fist into his face. That was as far as it got though. He only managed to cut his knuckle on Sam's sharp and broken teeth. He split Sam's lip and made the little _bastard_ cry... then he was being hauled back and throw to the side and it was Floyd now kneeling on Spencer's chest and a fist heading for his face. The pain exploded through Spencer's head. He felt his lips mash against his teeth... then another shot of pain as something cracked against his cheek.

This was love. This is what he'd needed.

'What the fuck is wrong with you?' A hand in Spencer's hair, pulling his head forward and banging it onto the rubbery floor. He felt his head bounce and being smacked back down again. He felt Floyd's knee grinding into his ribs. 'Answer me!' Spittle sprayed over Spencer's face... and it all felt so right! He wriggled... he flailed back, catching the side of Floyd's face with fingernails. He felt his nails scraping over skin he felt another hand digging at Floyd's neck... and then he was pinned down. Floyd had his hands in his, holding them to the ground either side of his head. 'Stop it Spencer! Just fucking calm the fuck down!'

Somewhere behind the shouting – Spencer was shouting back again, but he couldn't remember what it was he said... or even if they were actual words, but he knew that he meant every word of hate he was howling back... and behind that was Sam...

'He _hit_ me!'

And if Floyd let him go, Spencer would hit him again, but make a much better job of it.

'Calm down.' Floyd was bellowing in a very un-calm way. 'Just stop wriggling and lay still. Talk to me.' Before Spencer had a chance to say anything or even to command his body to stop struggling another shock of pain hit and the world flashed bright colours... then went black.

'I've never liked you.'

Spencer heard the words in a strange fuzzy darkness. He was laying on his front, drooling into a feather pillow. He blinked and then tried to make the voice go away.

'You've always been one of those types I despise.'

It was a female voice. Spencer ignored it. He recognised her accent... the way she snapped her words off. Just thinking about it made him want to punch her.

'You've got to come with me or you'll lay there in your own drool and die.'

Spencer rolled over onto his back, pulling the comforter with him and looked at the person crouched down next to him.

'Emily?'

'Who did you expect to come saving your sorry ass? Quickly, before the others wake.' She tried to pull the quilt off him, but he clung hold tightly.

'You're not here.'

Emily had cut her hair off. It stood up in a clump on one side of her head and was almost shaved to the scalp on the other. Not very flattering. She had smudges of old makeup around her eyes and the faint remains of lipstick. Spencer found he was staring at her. Not even in his wildest dreams had he ever seen Emily look so weird. She stood and he saw she had on a black vest top and a pair of tatty combats, also in black... and a pair of old boots on her feet.

'We must leave now.'

Quickly Spencer felt down his body to check that he had clothes on... he was still in breeches and Tshirt. He pushed off the quilt and sat up, now quick fingers checking out his face. He had a swollen mouth and his cheek was tender. A quick tongue over his teeth and he was happy to find that he still had most of them. At least all he expected to find.

'What are you doing here? Where am I?'

'Always stupid questions. Do you want to spend the rest of your existence in a pop up tent or are you going to take a risk and come with me now. It's your last chance Spencer. Let me rescue you from Flanders and that Trent creature and you can come home again. They don't want you. They want each other. You don't really think that they have any plans to keep you, do you? You'll end up like Levin. They'll kill you as soon as they need to play that hand. Come with me before it's too late. Let them have each other.' She gently stroked the top of his head. 'Now... it has to be now. They're sleeping... sleeping in each other's arms. That's how much they want you... come... see, but be quiet. Don't wake them. They will stop you. They will not let you leave.'

Slowly Spencer followed weird Emily out of the small orange pop up tent he'd been sleeping in. The dark rubbery floor was dotted around with dozens of brightly coloured pop-up domes... more or less in a circle and in the middle of that circle, Floyd and Sam lay naked and entwined. The temptation to go and kick them both was almost too much. He took a step towards them, but Emily took his hand and pulled him back.

'Now... we must go now.'

Spencer didn't want to leave. He wanted kick them till they couldn't move and then curl up with them. He wanted to stamp on Sam's head and feel the bones crack under his heel. He wanted to see the shock in their faces, but Emily was dragging him backwards and away from the scene and away from the circle of tents and towards the darkness.

'Where are you taking me?'

'Home.' She hissed.

But where was home now? He had no home. And how did Emily get here? 'Are you dead?' He asked.

'Do you spend your life asking pointless questions... no don't answer. I know you do. Just move yourself. I'll take you home.'

It seemed as though they walked for days, but it couldn't have been. The great darkness just spread out and around them, never changing. No random bodies on display. No more tents. No voices... except once he thought he heard Floyd calling him, but, no... maybe it was his imagination. Wishful thinking. Why would Floyd want him. He had Sam. He had all he needed. That was proven. He'd seen them... Naked! Floyd never got naked... never.

'So why now?' He snatched his hand out of Emily's and turned to look back. 'Why?'

'More needless questions. We should run.' And she was grabbing him again and pulling him onwards towards something... or somewhere. A faint orange glow in the very far distance. 'It's not far now.'

'No... no, Emily, stop... I have to go back. I have to talk to him first.'

'You fool. You stupid fool. You think he'll listen to you? You abandoned him. You walked away at the first chance you got. You went away with me... Me! The only woman he ever wanted to fuck.' And she pulled his other hand towards that warm place between her legs. He could feel how damp she was through the combat pants she had on. He tried to snatch his hand away but Emily was much stronger than she looked. 'You... dirty boy.' She whispered. 'Why not take what he always wanted and was always denied. Take something back.'

Trying to move his hand from her crotch only caused much finger wriggling and he could feel the way she pushed her hips forward to get more pressure. 'Stop it.' She seemed to have too many hands. They were everywhere and Spencer didn't seem able to fend them off. Even though she had hold of his hands... pressing one of them to her breast and forcing the other to grind between her legs, she also was pulling at the front of his breeches, running fingers through his hair and drawing circles around his nipples. 'Come on... finish it Spencer. Fuck me.' She bit him! She bit the side of his face, licked over his ear, pressed her mouth against his lips then pulled his head forwards and pressed his mouth against an exposed breast... Her nipples were hard... and his hands, suddenly free where pulling at her buttons, dragging her combats down... Her boots were gone so pulling her clothing off was easy.

He took her with nothing more than a need he'd not felt before. He tore into her, as he sucked on her nipples, biting on her breasts... howling and grinding against her as she screamed in return and wrapped her legs around him, clawing at his back...

'Spencer!' It was a shout from the distance. It was Floyd... and the thought of Floyd finding him here pounding his hot hard self into Emily made it so erotic that he cried out and emptied himself into her... burying his face into her soft pink flesh... Then he was being dragged away. Things were being shouted, but Spencer was crying out for Floyd to let him go... it was Emily he wanted... it was Emily he needed. He would plant his seed and give her his life. He'd grow inside of her. Spawn his children with her. Grow old with her!

'It's not Emily!' The words arrived with a slap across the face. 'You stupid cunt!' Another slap. 'Did I not warn you of tricks?'

Spencer was in no mood to hear this. He was pulling his clothes back on, pushing Floyd away and trying to see what Sam was ripping to pieces. They'd killed Emily? 'Emily! What have you done?'

'That was a demon, Spencer. It was not Emily.'

'But he's had the taste of cunny now, Floyd. He'll want it again.' Sam squished over to them. He was dressed and dripping with blood. 'She would have eaten you. Not that eating people is too much of a surprise to you, but she would have... from the cock upwards. All that would have been left of you would be steaming bones.'

'I saw you.' Spencer again pushed Floyd away. 'I saw you by the tents... together... naked.'

'Tents?' Floyd smirked. 'Naked? Now that should have set off alarm bells. You really think I'd bother getting naked just to arse fuck Sam?'

'Then what did I see?'

'Dunno... but not what you thought you saw. Sam fell asleep and something must have made me sleep too, which is very odd... we have to be very aware... nothing is real. Come on now. Let's go... Levin is looking after our stuff. Quickly now.' And it was Floyd with too many hands... and Sam sidling up behind him, sliding hot little hands down the back of his breeches and Floyd biting on the side of his neck and face... a tongue much too long had slipped between his lips, over his teeth and was winding its way down his throat.

He couldn't breathe... fingers exploring one place... hands groping in other places... He grasped at his throat as his air ways became blocked... tried to push Floyd away... tried to get out of the grip Sam had him in... what _was_ he doing with his fingers? His hand! Spencer tried to scream, but couldn't draw in a breath to do so. He tried to get away, but Sam must have been in him up to his elbows by now! Floyd's tongue was sliding around his guts and a set of very sharp teeth had a hold onto his face... biting at him, tearing at his flesh.

Bright lights flashed across his vision. 'Spencer?' Floyd stood over him.

'A nightmare.' Sam said.

'Babes... drink this.'

But no... this wasn't real. Emily had been real... 'Where's Emily?' Spencer managed to choke out.

'Emily?'

'You know who I'm talking about.'

'Prentiss? That Emily?'

'It was a nightmare.' Sam said again.

'Demons in your head. Pay it no heed.'

But it wasn't possible not to pay heed! Not possible. Spencer ached all over. Every part of his body was agony, but he managed to get to his feet and without even glancing at Floyd or Sam he walked away, limping badly, a hot and fierce anger flushing across his face. His hands were in fists at his side as he changed from a slippery limp to a loping run.

Spencer knew that when you started to die, that things flashed across your memory. Lights blinked on and off... voices from the past yelled in your ear. The brain played cruel tricks as it started to close down and let you sleep forever. He had – and he knew that much was real – taken a massive over dose. He'd tried to kill himself. What if it had not worked. What if he'd been found and was on life support somewhere, slowly dying... taking years for his body to give up? What if none of this was real... it was all a dream. All of it. From the moment he'd stuck the needle into his arm it had all become a dream.

'Spencer!' Floyd caught him by the hair and pulled him back, wrapping arms around him.

Spencer stood motionless. It wasn't Floyd. He didn't smell right. He didn't feel right. This wasn't him. This wasn't the man he'd loved... that man had departed a long time ago. That man who had groomed him, exposed him to filth... shown him what to do with hands and mouths... the man who had raped him when he was still not much more than a boy... the man who had kidnapped him from the school gates and taken him to caves and shown him ancient paintings. None of that was real None of it!

'It's OK.' Floyd breathed over his ear. 'A nightmare.'

'I wanted Emily.' Spencer sobbed. 'It was never you.'

The arms which were wrapped around Spencer dropped away. 'I beg your fucking pardon?'

Spencer turned around and faced him. 'I can't trust anything I see or hear. I doubt I'm even here.'

'You're here. You have to be here because you smacked me in the mouth and if you're not here then how could you have done?' Sam said.

'You're confused. Poor bunny. If it wasn't for the fact that you are so fucking cute when you pull that confused face, I'd knock your sodding teeth out for scratching me. I'm not going to listen to this Emily shit. Where the hell did that come from anyway?'

'I saw her.' Spencer walked in a circle. 'I went with her. I went with Emily and was glad! I was glad that I was leaving. I thought love was... I thought... I knew that I loved you in a way... unique fashion. But what Emily showed me...'

Another blinding shot of pain in Spencer's face and the world turned in circles as he fell back onto the floor.

He had a long dream. But this time Spencer knew that it wasn't real. Again he was with Emily and again they rutted. And again it felt so right. They went horse riding, crawled through the attic space in an abandoned house. They pulled the petals off roses and rubbed them into their hair. They sucked on toes and went to see the gnomes who had moved in next door. They had dark haired children who all looked like Sam... and for a while he just floated in clouds and listened to the voices of sweet singing... such sweet singing! But he couldn't join in.

He walked through a field full of pigs and then another full of sheep... and he saw Floyd rutting with the sheep and eating something which looked like a crow... flapping black wings were snapped and stuffed into his mouth as the sheep said 'baa' and Sam was doing hand stands in a tree.

He woke up as before... face down, drooling into a feather pillow, and he fully expected the whole sequence to start over again, but when he opened his eyes it was Floyd he could see, sitting with his back to a stone wall and reading a book.

'Floyd?' His voice sounded rough and his tongue seemed to have grown a fur coat.

'Babes!' Floyd dropped the book and crawled forwards. 'Thirsty?' He held up a small wooden cup. 'It's just water.'

Spencer's neck hurt. He wanted to look around and see where they were, but that wasn't possible just now. 'Where are we?' He sipped on the water... it tasted old and rank, but sweet and wondrous too.

Floyd took the cup from him and set it down on the floor. 'I carried you for hundreds of miles. I thought I'd killed you. You acted a bit strange... but we're here... a settlement. We've been here a month. Really thought you weren't going to wake up again. But...' Floyd frowned. '… let me get you something to nibble on.' Floyd got to his feet. 'Sam is sleeping. It's the middle of his sleep cycle... he's in a room next door. Nothing to worry about. I've kept him away from you since... well, anyway, I'm keeping you two apart.'

'I hit him.' Spencer thought that much was real.

'Yes. I guess you could call it that.'

'I punched him in the mouth.'

'I guess so.' Floyd hunkered down again. 'You did some very odd stuff, Babes.

'He had his hands all over you.' Spencer reasoned.

'Not now. I'll get some broth for you. Lay down and sip that water.'

'Floyd, I can't trust anything I see or hear. How do I know that's you?'

Floyd's face did a small twitch. 'Can I ask you something? How long have you been having wet dreams about Prentiss? Don't deny it. You called her name out as you slept. Everything is a muddle and a mess. I'll get that broth and you think on what it is you desire.'

The door banged shut.

With a bit of very careful manipulation, Spencer moved to lay on his back. It felt as though most every bone in his body had been broken. This had been no love tap. And with his mind so muddled and his memory of what had happened and what had been a dream of nightmare he had no idea what he'd done to Sam. He was trying to backtrack everything from the moment he'd met Levin for the first time to when he leapt to attack Sam but nothing made any sense at all. Nothing. He was still trying to figure out what had happened in that cemetery when Floyd arrived with a bowl of broth and a bottle of something under his arm.

'You shouldn't have moved.' The things were placed down and Floyd went to help Spencer to sit. 'Do you feel sick?' Floyd asked him.

'Just tired. Tell me... what did I do to Sam?'

'Broke his jaw, a few more teeth, his nose... nothing that won't fix.' But that didn't sound right.

'I only hit him once.'

'If you insist. Now try some of this. It's lamb and onion.'

'Lamb.' Spencer doubted that. Where would they get lamb from in the middle of this darkness. 'You say you found a settlement? How are you paying for this now Levin is no longer with us?'

Floyd spooned some broth and held it up for Spencer to sip off. 'Let me worry about that. Now you're awake you'll heal up quickly. Sam...'

'I'm not interested in Sam.'

The spoon was placed back in the bowl and the bowl was put on the floor next to the straw pallet Spencer was bedded down on. 'Fine. Be a bitch. Feed yourself. I warned you about tricks of the mind. You didn't listen.'

How much was a dream and how much was real? 'At what point did it become my imagination because I'm telling you, I've never thought of Emily in that way before... and...'

'It's surprising what the mind will do when the brain is damaged. Starved... crushed... All those secret desires burst forth like water over a fall. It's done. You've had your little fantasy. We all have them. It doesn't need to be discussed again. Unless you're trying to tell me that you don't want me to fuck you? Is that it? You think I groomed you and you're not a fag? Well... I'll find you a whore.'

'No.' Spencer sighed. The broth he'd had one sip of was greasy but lovely. He could feel it gurgling around in his stomach. 'I didn't say that.'

'You thought it. You dreamed it. I dream of pygmies. I wonder – often wonder – if that's because I like children more than is legal. What do you think? It's obviously not a hight thing because you're one tall bitch, so why do I dream of little men with long spears? Or maybe it's just a fucking dream and means sod all? We can't have it both ways can we? So I'll pretend that my pygmy dreams mean nothing more than I'd like to do it with a midget and you can experiment with cunt. Or was it just Emily you wanted to stuff yourself in to. How do you think that bitch would feel about you dreaming such things? I personally think she'd tear your eyes out of your face before you got your dirty hand latched around her tit. Maybe you need someone less... well more delicate and less manly.'

Floyd was talking rubbish and Spencer had only just woken up from a sleep which apparently nearly killed him... if you can die in hell if you're all ready dead? He still didn't quite know the answer to that. And if you die in hell, where do you go? To a deeper and more painful place he suspected. 'I wondered if I was on life support somewhere.' He muttered as he reached for the bowl.

'Right... that would make you feel better?'

'Levin would still... no... no he'd still be dead... but yes, I think it would make me feel better. Maybe none of it happened. Perhaps I was run down by a car, or fell in front of a train and I've been stitched back together.'

'Hotch sitting by your side assuming it was me who pushed you... Sad story, but bollocks. You died. End of. No going back there. If we do manage to rise again, it'll not be to somewhere you know. Now here.' Floyd picked up the bowl and handed it to Spencer. 'You have that. I'm going to check on Sam. You might not like him...'

'I don't like him groping you. I don't like you sucking on his tongue.' Spencer muttered. But Floyd was leaving the room and slamming the door behind him. If he heard, then he didn't respond to it. Spencer sipped back on the rest of the broth, dropped the bowl to the floor, lay back down again and was almost instantly asleep.

Floyd slipped quickly into the next room. Sam was curled up on a pile of rags in the corner. It riled Floyd that Sam behaved like this was _his_ fault. There was no other way to get rooms and food for this length of time and he had removed the leg irons. Oh... sure someone had broken Sam's jaw, cracked a few ribs and mashed his cute little nose, but as he'd told Spencer, it will heal.

'I told Spencer he did it.' Floyd said as he threw the bottle of wine at Sam. A quick hand snatched it from the air and placed it next to him amongst the rags.

'Why?' Sam sounded nasally. But it was probably because his nose seemed to have been bleeding again.

'Because he's going to give me shit if I say I let someone do this. Drink the wine and be grateful I didn't let them hang you. That's what they wanted.'

'You're too generous sometimes. You stomp on Spencer because he hits me, then you let someone else stomp on me because you hit Spencer too hard. How is any of that my fault?'

'Can't see that it's mine.' Floyd sat on a small wooden stool and looked down at a bruised Sam.

'I'll probably die if they demand more from me. Each time I heal slower than the last.' Sam pulled the cork from the bottle and took a swig back. 'And you said Levin would come back. When will that happen do you think?'

Floyd sighed. His boys were so hard to satisfy! Always had something to moan about.


	14. Chapter 14

Snare

'There are ducks in hell?' Spencer asked as Floyd placed a plate of roast duck stuffed with mushrooms, some kind of small nut, and white beans. 'How does a duck sin?'

And it was a question which at first confused Floyd. 'Sin?'

'What did a duck do that was so wrong that he was thrown into hell?'

Spencer had it all wrong. All this time and he still didn't get the truth of this. 'There's no such thing as _sin_.' Floyd ripped off a bit of meat and held it out for Spencer. 'The duck... the duck is a duck. It's food.'

'There is such a thing as a sin. And you can't tell me that there's not.' Spencer had seen enough of the vile things humans could do to each other to know that he was very correct and knowledgeable on this particular subject.

'I just did. There's no such thing. That, my dearest is the end of the subject. I'll not discuss this stupidity further, because frankly my sweetest, I think you're jesting with me and I am not really in the mood for your games.' Floyd held out a bit of duck for Spencer. 'Eat the evil little feathered bastard. It died for your sins.'

Spencer took the bit of meat from Floyd, not finding his joke at all amusing. He'd never baulked at eating duck in the past, so why was this almost feeling like cannibalism? It was ridiculous and he knew it... and the duck was delicious. Wondrous! Even though it hurt to eat, it was still mouth wateringly fabulous. 'So, tell me where we are, how we got here and where Sam is.'

'No. You don't need to know everything. We're in a small settlement. They're farmers and hunter gatherers for the most part. This is an inn of sorts. Much like any other all over the known and unknown worlds. They serve food and drink, have someone to play music and it's good for gambling. There are girls too, for hire, but that will be something for when you're feeling a tad less broken. I don't want to spend too much time here though. We've been here too long all ready and I get bored easily. There's a hanging later. I'll go to that... not as the entertainment, but to watch. I'm judging by the look on your face that you're not disappointed that you're not attending? That's good. You should rest anyway and I'd rather you didn't show your pretty face too much. You stand out as different amongst these people. Hidden away up here they soon forget – but I'd sooner not remind them of how strange you are. I'll take Sam. But no worries. They'll not touch you if you stay here.'

None of what Floyd said seemed odd to Spencer. If all things were equal down... well in hell then the person they were going to hang was no more a victim than the duck whose bones he was sucking on. That's how he wanted to view the situation. The thing which sounded wrong to Spencer was the mention of _girls_. Why would Floyd say such a thing?

'Girls?' He muttered as he wiped the duck grease off his mouth.

'Well I thought you wanted to fuck Emily and as she's not here... there's some pretty little things here though. Any age you'd like. Any sized tits... but I cannot provide you with Em. She's not here – not yet at least. I'm sure she'll find her way here eventually – along with that fucking blonde bitch. Anyway – girls. For you. I'll watch though if that's OK? I don't mind watching such. I just won't want to join in. I'm a firm believe in arse being the only way to have real fun.'

Spencer dropped the duck bones onto the plate and gave Floyd a deep frown. 'I had a dream...'

'And I would, if it was possible, make that dream come true for you. But I cannot go get Emily.'

Spencer's brain was pounding with this stupidity. He didn't... he didn't want Emily! What was Floyd rabbiting on about. It had been no more real than the other things his brain decided to show him when he was probably close to death. 'It's you I want. I don't want Emily.'

'It's odd what desires are so deep set in us that we continue to deny them throughout life. There's many a man who would love to be fucked by me if he'd just admit it. It's culture which forces us to conform. Not nature.' Floyd walked to the door. 'Lay down and rest. There's nothing too much to worry about. You seem coherent and very remarkable all things considered. By tomorrow you'll be ready to entertain me.' Was that a snarl on his face? Spencer wasn't sure. The room seemed suddenly very gloomy.

'You know better than that. You are all I've ever wanted or needed.'

Floyd raised an eyebrow at that. 'Well we both know that's a lie, don't we? You're a whore, Spencer. A dirty little slut, and though I like that in you... the matter that you'll do anything I require... there's still that part of you which loves to have a stranger ramming himself into you. I maybe understand part of that... it's the danger... the thrill. The unexpected. Well, we can happily continue that game. Tomorrow I'll provide you with a pretty wench. I want to see if she can excite you the way Sam can. The way Levin could. The way I can.' And then he was again through the door, slamming it behind him.

So this was to be his punishment for having a dirty dream about Emily? He was going to have to prove that it was just a strangeness his brain decided upon. Not real. Spencer slid back down under the covers... a warm quilt... and felt decidedly uncomfortable as he remembered that little dream of his.

It seemed as though Floyd had been gone for hours. The grease from the duck had solidified and the juicy food no longer looked even slightly appetising. Spencer managed to crawl to the slop bucket and relieve himself and after that he had a better look around the room. The walls were rough stone. The floor was wooden boards. In this area of about fifteen foot square. There was a wooden door on one wall and a long narrow window with shutters on the opposite side. After a brief inspection he noted that not only was there thick, slightly yellow glass set in diamond shaped frames, but also stout iron bars. Spencer noted that the window couldn't be opened and the glass was too thick and discoloured to be able to see out of, but the internal shutters, when pulled back, let some degree of light into the room. The ceiling was just out of reach when he stretched upwards. In the corner was his bed, in another corner the slop bucket... and on the floor the cold duck remains. And pushed partly into the shadows was a book. It was to that Spencer now walked, carefully, aware that he felt as though an elephant had walked over his head. He kept one hand to the side of his head as though that would ease the pain. Then carefully crouching, he picked up the book. It had a leather cover... stretched over a thin wooden board. The pages were held in with loops of leather going through the paper... The print was smudged in places and very poorly done... but totally unreadable. It was in a language Spencer had never seen before. The letters not even slightly familiar. He closed the book and put it back where he'd found it then staying on his hands and knees, crawled back to the bed.

He heard a distant cheer and wondered if it was for the hanging Floyd said he was going to go and watch. A small time later there was the sound of joyous music and singing along with laughter and loud and happy voices from where he assumed was the main part of the inn. He curled up tighter on the bed and wondered what sort of fun Floyd was having with Sam. No he'd not wanted to go and see someone hang. That certainly wasn't what he'd class as entertainment, but it would have been nice for Floyd to allow him to join in the after party.

Spencer groaned, sat up and looked at the door. He'd actually not tried it to see if it was locked. He'd just considered it very unlikely that Floyd would have left him here and _not_ locked the door. But now he was walking slowly towards it, keeping one hand on his head and the other against the wall for balance. The rooms swung around in a circle once and so he'd closed his eyes and taken deep breaths. Now he had a hand on the door... now on the door handle... he turned the big brass door knob and the locked clicked and Spencer pulled the door open. It wasn't locked. Spencer wasn't sure now if that was good – he could escape if needs be. Or if it was bad – anyone could walk in and he no longer felt that odd feeling that Floyd was protecting him. He wiped his hands down the front of his dirty and ragged Tshirt and adjusted his filthy breeches and stepped out of the door; once again holding onto the wall for better balance. He glanced down the corridor. One way seemed to lead into the gloom and a row of doors... it ended with a flight of stairs going upwards. The other way, a few more doors and stairs going down. It was from there that all the noise was coming from. A revelry... a party, the twanging of a knee harp and maybe a lute... there was a voice barely audible above the laughter... a sweet singing voice and the sound of mugs banging on a table... and foot stomping on floors. For a few minutes Spencer just stood there with his eyes closed, trying to imagine the scene downstairs. His imagination took him from a modern day stag party to an orgy or some sort of demonic celebration. He could almost smell the sweet scent of sex rising up the stairs... the smell of ale, something cooking... a roast – he thought it was probably _not_ human... it smelt more like lamb. Then were was that sour smell of old piss and vomit. Slowly Spencer walked towards the stairs. Yes! Yes Spencer knew that Floyd had told him to stay in the room, but surely Floyd should have come back for him? To let him know all was well? How long did he expect him to wait like a good boy in his room? He wasn't some small child to be told what to do by a parent. He was an adult. And he was going to go down the stairs and see what was going on... It was hurting his head and bringing him out in a hot, slightly fevered sweat, but he was going to go and do it anyway.

Wooden steps lead down into the noise below. There was a hand rail made of twisted black metal, but the stairs were what seemed to be oak, or as near enough that it didn't really matter. They were wooden and didn't collapse and so that's all that really mattered to Spencer. There were thirteen treads and they creaked slightly, but taken slowly and holding on tightly, Spencer made it without falling and breaking his neck. At the bottom there was a small hallway with stone walls, much like the walls of his room. The stone was dry and the mortar pale and crumbly, but it seemed as though those walls had been there for hundreds of years and would be for many more to follow. The laughter was louder here. The singing brighter. The smells stronger. Spencer turned and looked back the way he'd come and wondered if he should turn around and go back. What if Floyd and Sam weren't there? He'd not even bothered to find out if Sam was in his room... But that was partly because he wasn't completely sure which room Sam was in. Spencer licked his lips, stood upright, fiddled with his stinking clothing again and walked across the hallway. There were two doors. One had some scrawl written on the wood. The other had all the noise coming from behind it. Taking a deep breath, Spencer grabbed the door handle, twisted it and pulled.

It was a huge room with a vaulted ceiling and exposed beams. The walls here were wooden. The smoke thick. The smells over whelming the noise deafening. No one turned to look so Spencer slipped in through the door and let it close behind him. With his back to the wall and one hand pressed to the side of his head which was so full of pain that he wondered if he was going to throw up, the other hand pressed against the wall behind him. He looked around for Floyd and Sam.

He saw women with long dresses and jugs in their hands, wriggling between the many tables and laughing in a course, lewd manner. There were men of every colour and sort imaginable. Some seemed overly short and others maybe a bit too tall, but they all had what Spencer would class as _normal_ features. There was a fire pit with something roasting over it. There was a man sitting playing a harp and singing a song... but Spencer didn't understand the words. The people in the room did though, at least it seemed they did. Some were singing along... some were stamping feet and laughing... Women were being pulled onto laps, hands disappearing up skirts, down bodices, down breeches and up shirts. A few people were on the tables dancing... and it was to there that Spencer's eyes finally settled. He thought at first it was another tavern wench, stamping her feet, wriggling, lifting her skirts and howling out a strange song along with the bard and his harp. It wasn't until the wench turned and faced the way Spencer was looking that he realised it was Sam. Sam with nothing on under his skirts... Sam showing the room what he had, and honestly at that moment, Spencer didn't think it was all that much! Sam didn't see Spencer standing there in the shadows. Sam was too engrossed in the shouting and leering going on around him... Why Sam was dressed as a girl, Spencer didn't know. It obviously wasn't to disguise his gender which he was flashing at anyone who cared to look. Spencer tore his eyes away from Sam and the nasty display to look for Floyd who couldn't be far away if Sam was there. He looked for Floyd's dark hair. He looked for Floyd's back... he would easily be able to spot Floyd sitting... he had a way about him. A way he'd hold himself, ready to leap up... never relaxed, but Floyd didn't seem to be at the table Sam was dancing on. He took another deep breath and was about to talk over to where there was a plank of wood across a few large barrels... it seemed to be serving as a bar of sorts... when a hand pressed over the one he himself had pressed against the wall. Slowly Spencer turned to see who it was, but he already knew. He didn't really have to turn to look.

'I told you to wait in your room.' Floyd spoke over the noise. 'You defy me time after time. I'm not going to have to nail you to the floor by your hands and feet am I?' The hand closed over Spencer's and squeezed. 'I'm going to let go of your hand and you're going to turn around and return to your room. Don't leave again unless you're with me.'

Spencer sighed. 'I came looking for you.'

'You found me. Now fuck off.'

'Sam...'

'Sam is earning money for you to have a bed. Be grateful. The dance gets him more treats and fewer slaps. Don't worry for him. He's doing just fine. You though... Go back to where I left you. You suffered a bad head injury and I don't want you falling down in a swoon.'

'I don't swoon.' Spencer rubbed at his head though. 'My head...'

Floyd now moved so that he was standing in front of Spencer, partially blocking his view of the room. Floyd pushed a hand onto Spencer's chest.

'Chew on this root. It's a mild pain killer. It'll help, but you'll need to move your hand either off the wall or off your head to take it. Then go to the room, nibble and wait. Give me a few hours.'

'It's been more than a few hours already.' Spencer took the thing Floyd had given him. It looked like a grey parsnip.

'And it'll be a few hours more. I'm partying.'

Spencer looked into Floyd's eyes. 'You're having fun with all this jolly music and singing?'

A shake of the head from Floyd. 'No... can't say that's what's entertaining me... Look over my shoulder. There's a tall bloke with striped knee breeches and a battered leather breast plate. Tall... dark reddish hair.'

Spencer looked through the crowds until he spotted a nice looking young man standing there looking straight back at them. 'I see him.'

'His name is Snare. He's the bed warmer for the local spokesman. He's a whore. And he's going to let me fuck him until he bleeds... soon... Now you wouldn't have had that lovely bit of information had you not come down here where I told you not to come. You'd have gone back to sleep and awoken when I arrived later with a bottle of wine and a smirk on my face. As it is, now you'll have to go, nibble a root and maybe pretend it's Snare's cock you're chewing on. Next time, do as I ask.'

Spencer put his hands on Floyd's chest and pushed slightly. 'What did I do to you? What have I done except accept every thing you ask and say? Why do you insist on this game?'

'Because you rile me. Because you have no fucking backbone. Because you'll not fight me. Because you've become less than you were. Go... or I'll drag you and nail you there...'

Spencer took a step towards the door. 'Fine. I'll wait.'

'Give me a reason.' Floyd followed, talking into the back of Spencer's neck. 'Give me a reason to hurt you and I will. You know that. You do remember that don't you? Give me a fucking reason Spencer! Stop being so fucking understanding! I'm going to fuck Snare and you don't mind? I'm going to sell Sam to some bastard... for he night... and know he's going to get hurt and you are not going to try to stop it? What the hell happened to you? Why do you put up with this crap?'

Spencer pushed the door open and let it slam behind him. He had no answer to those questions. He'd often wondered the same himself. He didn't go back upstairs though. He dropped the root to the floor. For some odd reason he didn't trust that it was just a pain killing thing. Now he looked at the other door and though in pain and though his head was pounding to the point of bringing tears to his eyes, he walked to the door with the odd scrawl on it and pulled it open. Spencer had been expecting another room. Maybe a kitchen or laundry room, but this door led outside into almost fresh air. The sky was light... a pale lilac, but there didn't seem to be a sun up there. He was now standing in a courtyard which belonged to the inn. There was one side taken up by the wall of what looked like a barn from the outside, but was the hall where Floyd was and Sam were and that Snare was. One the other side was a stable block. Along another was a wall with a few doors set into it and along the final wall, the one he was standing in front of, where some work shops; a smith was the most obvious of them. He could hear the hammering of metal on metal from where he was. Each smack making him wince with the pain in his head, but it was to the smith that his attention had been drawn. If Floyd wanted to play games, then he'd play too. If Floyd wanted more back bone, then Spencer would show it. If Floyd wanted resistance then Spencer would resist. He was, after all, already dead. The man couldn't kill him again... at least that was what he thought Floyd had hinted at. Levin... Levin had been killed though – so maybe he was wrong... he would soon find out.

Nothing is free. Spencer knew that. He knew that he had nothing to pay the man with. He knew that he'd have to find a way of paying which would not cause him any pain. He rubbed at his jaw, ran his tongue over his teeth... once again fiddled with his clothing and walked towards the sound of the smithy.

What he needed was four iron spikes with a wide head and a mallet. Not much. Surely that would not be too expensive. The man with the hammer was naked except for a long leather apron and a cloth tied around his head. He was bronzed, sweaty and like you'd expect, he had muscles. Spencer saw the man look up as he approached. He watched the man move from the anvil and stand waiting, hammer still in his hand and Spencer was sure that the man would use it without question if Spencer appeared at all threatening. Spencer actually didn't look as though he could swat a fly. He was under weight, limping and rubbing the side of his head. His eyes were watering and his breathing sounded laboured and rough. The smith carried on watching, but his posture seemed to relax slightly. His pale blue eyes narrowed when Spencer told him what he needed.

'You're going to tell me that you've nothing to pay me with.' The smith said in reply to Spencer's request.

'I'm going to ask you what it would cost.'

It cost Spencer a short while on his knees in front of the smith. It cost a couple minutes of him standing as the man had a quick grope. Nothing Spencer had not done before. Though now he was slightly concerned that Floyd would smell the man on him. But he had his spikes and he had his mallet. Now he had to get back to the room and conceal them before Floyd got back. He also needed to get the taste out of his mouth he now had. There was that cold duck in the room. That would have to do. At least he hoped so. If Floyd was going to be having his own bit of fun – though giving a man a blow job for a few nails wasn't Spencer's idea of fun – then his mind will be on other things when he got back... and not on strange smells coming from Spencer... and Spencer already stank like a cesspit.

He hid the things under the mattress then lay there wondering what he was actually going to do with them and how he was possibly going to get away with it. He'd not been thinking straight. Nailing Floyd to the floor was not going to be possible. The man didn't sleep for a start. On the way back to the room he had recovered the grey root and lay there now nibbling on the edge of it and awaiting almost certain death. Though what point was there in carrying on? Spencer would almost rather be burning in a fire pit than this sort of mid way hellish place which was neither terrible nor good.

He actually fell asleep. How long Floyd had been gone, he didn't know, but the door banging shut woke him with a start and there, as promised was Floyd with a bottle of wine and smirk on his face. Floyd flopped down on the bed next to Spencer and offered the bottle, which Spencer refused.

'Tomorrow I'm going to go see this Morrison person who controls this area and ask a few questions. Then we'll be off, if you're feeling better.'

'I'm not.' Spencer moaned... a bit forced maybe. He would have to watch that.

'I can get a horse and cart. You can lay in the back if you can't ride.' Floyd swigged back on the wine.

'And how are you going to pay for that?'

'Sam's doing all sorts of wondrous things down there... he's quite the gymnast. We'll get the horse and cart. No worries.'

'You left Sam down there?' Why that annoyed Spencer, he didn't know. It just seemed that Floyd was very careless with things he said he needed.

'He'll be OK. They know how far they can go with him and what will happen if they take it too far. No need to panic about that.'

'I've been thinking... why don't you go and ask The Old Woman for the name of the person you're looking for. I know – I know you said that you're not on talking terms with her, but it might work? She might tell you. It might be good to go there and relax on the grass and see birds flying in the sky.'

'She will know. But why would she tell me?'

'Because you're her child and she loves you? Maybe? Isn't it worth a try, rather than walking through hell looking for something which might not even be here.'

Floyd actually nodded. 'You might be right. Can I trust you to keep an eye out if I take some powders?'

'You know you can trust me.' Spencer replied. It wasn't an actual lie as such and Floyd was already rummaging for his little twist of something powdery.

'I've not done this in a while.'

'Then do it. I'm not leaving the room. I'll stay with you.'

'Come with me?' Floyd offered the powder up to Spencer.

'It makes me very sick. I think it might do more harm that good. Maybe another time?'

Again Floyd was nodding. 'Very well. I'll not need long.'

Spencer tried to look relaxed, even though every muscle in his body was tense and waiting for the fight of flight to kick in. He watched Floyd lay back on the floor and sniff his powders... for a while Spencer didn't move. He lay watching through half closed eyes. He watched Floyd's eyes roll back into his head. He watched that beautiful relaxed look on Floyd's face... the twitching around the mouth and eyes, but Spencer waited just a little bit longer. He waited for the inevitable nosebleed. He waited for Floyd to start muttering to himself. He waited for Floyd to put his head to one side and let the gathering drool out of his mouth. And it was at that point that Spencer moved into action. He pulled the things he'd _purchased_ from under the mattress and then knelt down next to Floyd. He touched him on the face and ran a finger over his mouth. Floyd had said that he trusted Spencer. The one time he should have been on alert, Floyd was more interested in his own fun. Spencer ran a hand over the front of Floyd's breeches and wondered if a spike through his cock would be of more use than what he had planned, but no... What Spencer needed was to get the hell out of this place and find somewhere civilised. If that was at all attainable. He grabbed Floyd by the shoulder and turned him so he was laying on his front. He placed one of Floyd's hands palm down on the wooden floor at about head hight, picked up the spike with the wide head... this was so Floyd couldn't just pull his hands off the metal... he picked up the mallet... and placed the point of the spike on the back of Floyd's hand. This had to be done quickly and in one strike. And if Floyd was able to pull himself back too soon, Spencer thought that the last spike would be through his own head. For now... for now though Floyd carried on lightly twitching and drooling. Spencer raised the mallet and smacked it down onto the head of the spike. Spencer was shocked at the sound it made. The smashing cracking splat as the spike ripped through Floyd's hand and into the wood of the floor. He then moved quickly. Floyd's eyes had flickered something which maybe was alarm, but Spencer didn't have time to think. He smacked the second spike into Floyd's left hand and then stood looking down. Floyd was moving his head from side to side... trying to wake up, but he'd only just gone down... He was still a long way off... yet Spencer had to keep moving. He had two more spikes which he had originally thought he would put in Floyd's feet, but now he was moving out of the room and into the corridor. A deep moaning sound was coming from Floyd... he had to get this done quickly. He rushed as fast as he could rush, down the stairs and through the door into the large barn like room. There were less people there now... Sam had gone, but a bedraggled looking man with dark red hair was sitting alone. His breast plate laying on the floor and a bruise coming up under his eye. There was dried blood under his nose and he was now looking up at Spencer with undisguised hatred on his face. Spencer walked over to him quickly and laid the mallet and spikes on the table in front of Snare.

'I need a horse.' He told him.

'A horse is worth more than this.' He pushed at a spike with his finger tips.

'Not when the other two are through the back of the hands of the man who did this to you.' Spencer picked up the mallet and laid it on Snares lap. 'I need a horse and I need directions.'

Spencer was riding out of the complex within half an hour. It seemed like a horrific amount of time to him. Floyd was waking. He could tell by the screams and shouts. Sam was still nowhere to be seen, so the temptation to take him with him was not there. There was however the temptation to go back and kill Snare for hurting Floyd... but he mounted up and rode out in the direction he'd been given and tried not to look back. He did though. He stopped at the end of the road and listened out. But dogs were howling and children were shouting and playing in the streets... if Floyd was screaming... or indeed if Snare was... Spencer couldn't hear it.

'What have I done?' He asked himself. He knew Floyd would come for him. He knew Floyd would not be in the best of moods when he did that. He knew that Floyd was going to be beyond a bit cross. It would be agonising pain for a long time, for Spencer, but Floyd had asked for him to show backbone. To show some resistance. He thought that he'd just done that.

Floyd awoke with a scream and cool air around his rear end. A horse was worth a lot of money. The small crowd gathered here were going to make sure that Spencer over paid.

'Lay still or the next spike will be through your head.' A voice he thought he knew spoke into his ear.

'I'll fucking kill the lot of you.' He wriggled his right hand and the pain shot up his arm and across his shoulders.

'We didn't do this.' Snare spoke again... Floyd turned his head to look at him. 'We just – found you like this.' A smile spread over the slightly freckled young man.

'Where is Spencer? What have you cunts done with him?'

'Oh he's a long way from here by now. Took a fast horse. You need to pay. I'm going to sit and watch. I've gathered quite a few who want a go with your arse.'

Nailed to the floor in more than one way. Floyd was _not_ going to let this happen. He pulled again on his hand, this time the left. He could feel the spike tearing at his flesh and scraping across shattered bones. Who the hell had done this to him? He didn't want to risk pulling his hand right off the spike. He'd end up leaving half of his hand behind and regrowing a hand or half a hand would take some time and then he'd have to do the same to the other and he'd not get far with two completely broken hands... however he was not going to be raped either.

'Keep still.' A voice said as something warm and hard pressed against him. 'If you try to pull away again we'll put a spike through your head... or knees... take your pick.

'You sons of fucking bitches will all die! I'll kill... fucking get the fuck off... out... get off and out of me you mother fuckering bitch!'

'Only giving you what you gave us.'

Floyd howled and screamed some more. Where in the name of everything was Sam? Why wasn't Sam here coming to his rescue? Why was no one helping him? How could Spencer have done this to him? Did he have any idea of the retribution which was going to be piled upon him when they met up again. 'NO!' Floyd bellowed as something which wasn't a cock was pressed on and into him. 'I'm going to kill the lot of you!' His words ended with a scream. He could feel blood running between his legs. He could feel something being rammed much to far into him... tearing its way in.

'He can take a lot.'

'Impale the fucker.'

'Take his head!'

'Take his balls and make him eat them.'

The words and threats and promises carried on as Floyd tried to tear his hands off the spike...

Sam snuggled with a bed bunny and felt comforting arms around him. This little bunny was called Panzi. A small lad with a big appetite for lots of jolly good fun. Though very much male, Panzi seemed to have a cute pair of breasts which Sam had spent a deal of time sucking on and pawing. It was fun and comfortable, but it was time to go. Floyd would be wondering where he was. Panzi was sleeping. Sam pushed a bit of stray hair off his whore's face and gave him a kiss on the end of the nose. He was almost as pretty as Levin, but only almost. This fuck bunny was pink skinned and dark haired. Sam had decided that he liked blonds. He pulled on his dress and laced it up the front. He was tying his hair back and looking for a mirror when the screams started. He stood in confused and stunned silence and for a while just listened. It was Floyd. He knew that much because the screams where not just in his ears but in his head too. A volley of curses and howls bounced off his skull. A horrific pain shot firstly through his hands and then exploded up his arse! Something bad was happening to Floyd. Something really bad.

And if it's that bad that Floyd can't get out of it, really what chance did Sam have? Would Floyd blame him for running away whilst he still could. He looked down at Panzi and bit down on his bottom lip as he tried to think over the screaming in his head.

'I don't know what to do.' Sam said to himself. But slowly he was walking to the door, lifting his skirts up almost to his knees in case he had to run. 'Stop shouting. I can't think!' He snapped with annoyance. At least he wanted it to be annoyance, but maybe it was more fear than anything. Outside the door was the courtyard. Panzi had one of the special whoring rooms at the inn, not one of the internal guest rooms. He ran across the courtyard to where the doorway was to enter into the main part of the building. He could feel people watching him. Eyes peering from the darkness of the smithy and from the dark corners where no light ever seemed to reach, but the screams were louder, the threats louder, the howling in his head so loud and painful now that his own urine trickled down his legs and onto the cobbles he was standing on. A tear crept down his face and his hand was poised over the door knob.

'If I was you, which I'm glad I'm not, I'd get out of here before they come looking for you.' A rough voice said from the shadows.

Sam spun to look at where the voice was coming from but could only see darkness. 'What's going on?'

'Go out of the main gate and head in any direction. If they find you, you'll end up being put on a spike on the hill.'

'I've not done anything wrong!' Sam wailed. 'I've not!'

'You're his. That's a warrant to torture you till the end of days. You'll not get another chance. Go. I'll not stop you, but I'll not stop them either.'

'I can't leave him.' But Sam's hand had dropped from the door handle. 'I can't.'

'There'll not be much of him left. He's got more meat on him than a lot around here. Come back later. They'll have him roasted and served with spuds.'

'No... I can't.'

'Then die a very long painful death, little one.'

Sam looked for who it was talking to him, but could see no one. 'I need a horse.'

'There's one saddled and ready. Normally I'd ask for a gift in exchange, but I'm feeling kind of sorry for you... whelp. How long will you last out there alone? A day? A week?'

'I'm not stupid.' Sam snapped.

'Then why are you still standing there listening to Isgar being ripped apart?'

It wasn't a coincidence that Sam took the same road out of the settlement as Spencer had. The voice in the shadows had told him which way to go. He knew somewhere up ahead was Spencer, riding as fast as he could out of here and Sam was going to catch up if it meant killing the lovely fast horse he was galloping down the road on. The screaming and howling voice in his head stopped and that was more worrying than the howls of pain he'd been hearing. Why had Floyd stopped?

'I'll come back for you.' He sent out the message via his brain, but there was no answer.

The pretty lilac sky was turning a deep purple when Sam saw someone laying at the side of the road on a grassy ledge; a horse close by was nibbling on the lush green turf. Sam leapt from his own mount and let it drift to the grass for a munch of its own and walked quickly to Spencer who was laying sprawled out on his front. A flicker of hope drifted through him that Spencer was dead and he'd not have to deal with this, but the deep raging anger took over and Spencer was woken up by a kick in the ribs.

'You stupid, stupid damned maniac!' Sam shouted at the now moving and trying to get to his feet, Spencer. 'How could you do that to him! What were you thinking?'

Spencer was on his knees and about to explain when Sam kicked him in the face and knocked him back down again.

'Wait!' Spencer yelled. 'Wait... let me explain!'

'There's nothing you can say that'll make this better! You arsehole! You got Floyd killed and that means all sorts of terrible things will happen to me! I only exist all the time he does! He's what bonds us. With him gone we're nothing!'

'No!' Spencer got back to his knees. 'He's not gone.'

'They're roasting him as we speak! You cunt! I'm going to tear you apart and have you as my last meal. I only put up with you because of Floyd! I never liked you! You are a selfish bastard! A dirty whore and a shit for brains murdering fucktard!'

'He's not dead!' Spencer leapt to his feet. 'He can't be!'

'Well is he shouting at you in your head? Is he screaming in agony and making your skull crack with the pressure? Is that why you fell off the stupid horse because Floyd was howling abuse at you for what you did to him? Is it? Because it's fucking silent now... figure that one out! We're here alone. Nothing to protect us and everything is going to know that you're not one of them. You bloody well come back and try to at least show some remorse or I'm going to go alone and you'll not live a fucking day without my help and my help is only going to be around for so bloody long because by doing that to Floyd you've sodding well killed me too! You shit! Get back on the horse you bastard!'

'No.' Spencer stood his ground against the raging Sam who had his skirt hitched up and was ready for a proper fight. 'I'm not going back. Floyd wanted me to show some backbone. He wanted me to resist. I have. I've done what he wanted me to do. He'll not die Sam. He can't die. Not here. If you want to go back and get him, then do so, but you go alone.' Spencer walked towards his chestnut horse and began to stroke it gently along the neck. 'Floyd can find me again. Wherever I end up, Floyd can find me.'

'You're not coming back? Not ever? You're leaving? You killed yourself for this. This is what you wanted! And now you're saying...'

'I'm saying that maybe I made a mistake. I'm saying that I cannot and will not live my life in fear of the man I thought I loved. It's not going to be like that any longer. I'm taking the lead for once. He wanted me to fight back. I'm fighting... it's not my fault if my punch was harder than he expected. And don't goad me because you'll feel it too.'

Sam stood with his mouth open. He'd never heard Spencer talk like this before. What had happened to him? Was it something to do with the length of time he'd been sleeping? Was he damaged? 'Motherfucker.' Was all Sam could think of to say.

'And Sam, you need to do something about your teeth. They look like they're rotting. It's not a good look.'

'What? My teeth? What are you implying?'

'That you've lost that _cute_ look you once had. That you're looking dirty and... and in that dress you look – how can I put this – disgusting? Pathetic? I'm not sure there's a word... seedy, maybe? But you do need to fix those teeth. Your gums look infected and your breath stinks.' Spencer grabbed the reins of the horse and guided it over to a fallen tree. Spencer mounted up and turned to look at Sam who was standing with one hand over his mouth and his eyes narrowed.

'You're not going to help Floyd?' Sam's voice was slightly muffled by his hand.

'No. He's an angel, Sam. He can look after himself. Maybe, just maybe he'll realise that he should not have used us the way he did. Maybe you should come with me and not go running back to him. Show him that you're not his dog.'

Sam shook his head and sat down, pressing the fabric of his dress between his legs and resting his elbows on his knees. 'But I _am_ his dog. I'm his cunt-boy. I'm his spawn. Without him I'm absolutely nothing. I've tried being my own self many times and it always turns to shit. I can't do it. I have to know that Floyd is there.'

Spencer dug in his heels and clicked his tongue at the horse. 'This is what happens when we're with Floyd. This is the result of his constant bullying and abuse. This... this what is happening right now, Sam... as you sit there whining about it – this is with Floyd's influence. Can it get worse?'

'I could be in a bear pit about to be ripped apart. I could be on a slave ship being buggered by the captain and the cabin boy. I could be blind and hacking rocks with a pick axe in a cave hundreds of feet underground. I could be skinned alive and sold as spare parts. I could be slowly dying of poison... no... not that one... he was there then... I could be hanged for being a fag and see everyone setting out their picnics to enjoy the fun. I could have two broken legs and be alone in the jungle. I could be shot and left for dead. I could be drowning in a puddle at the side of the road. I could have a nasty arse disease... yes... actually I can think of some rather worse things that can happen when Floyd's not around. I'm going back for him. It will be me he loves. It will be me he thanks. It will be me he will hold and kiss and stroke. Not you.'

'As it was you he castrated? Is that the sort of love you want? No, Sam... it doesn't work the way you'd like it too. He'll not thank you. When has he ever thanked you for doing something for him? When? Never... blame, yes he'll blame you... he'll punish you... but don't expect gratitude because there'll be none. You are his dog... he'll pat you on the shoulder and throw you a stick and you'll go running for it and bring it back. Yet... me? What do you think he'll do?'

Sam tugged at some grass and threw it towards Spencer. 'I need your help.'

'All the time you're sitting there... wasting time, Sam. If you're going to go back, you need to do that now.'

'When I rescue him, I'll not let him come after you.' Sam jumped to his feet.

'Sam, I nailed his hands to the floor and gave him over to some rather nasty looking specimens. Do you think you can stop him from coming after me?' Spencer then turned his horse and trotted off down the road away from Sam and towards... well he had no idea what was down the road or how long the road was or where it would end... but all things do come to an end. That was obvious by the stones Sam was throwing at his back. Spencer was very sure he'd never see Sam again. And in some ways that was sad... in others – joyous.


	15. Chapter 15

Tracey and Denzil.

It was perhaps an hour or so later, as the darkness drew in, that Spencer rode up to the cross roads. There was a tumbled down building set in one of the corners and on the other side of the road an ancient and empty gibbet. The fact that it was empty was something to be thankful for. He slid off his horse and rubbed at his buttocks which were becoming numb from the long ride. The pain in his head had dulled, but was still there, niggling behind his eyes.

It was to the building Spencer took the horse to. It had fallen apart a long time ago. The bottom half which was made of stone, still stood upright. Even a chimney still stood firm. The upper half and the roof which had been made of wood, was long gone. The door was a hole in the wall and the windows were dark black squares, but there was room to bring the horse in through the door and after loosely hobbling it the best he could, he removed the saddle and bridle and let the horse mooch around and pick at the old grass which had poked up through the cobbles. Spencer had a small amount of food, but there was not much. Enough for a few days... and enough water... then he'd have to find a way to pay for some more and that way would not be the same method he used to get the spikes and mallet.

He sat huddled in the corner eating slightly stale bread and some hard yellow cheese, but it was better than nothing and he knew that it was probably safe to eat. His stomach didn't complain. That was a good sign. He washed it down with some very watered down red wine and wished that Floyd was there with him. They could have set some snares and gone for a short walk to a tall tree. The pain behind his eyes increased causing his eyes to water and his breath to come out in sobs.

'What have I done? Please give me some sign that I did the right thing. Either free me or take me and show me I was wrong. Don't abandon me now.' Spencer had no idea who he was talking to, but he had a very good idea that no one and nothing was bothering to listen. Yet he had a very good idea that Floyd was tuned in.

It was a strange world that Spencer rode through the next few days. The sky was not the right colour. There was no sun. The plants looked slightly wrong and the smells were not quite right. There were hardly any birds in the sky but when one came closer Spencer could see that those things flying were not birds as he'd think of them. They were more bat like. He dared not pick berries and he saw enough of them to make his mouth water. He had no idea if those bright red things were poison or if they'd taste like pumpkin pie and he was not going to risk death by berry. Not at this stage. The world seemed huge and empty. There were more abandoned buildings, more gibbets and there were the remains of gallows... piles of bones occasionally around the base of huge spikes which jutted out of the ground, always at cross roads. A warning maybe? But they were old and didn't appear to have been used for a long time now. Unlike previously where they'd seen things still breathing with spikes through them, there was nothing left of whoever had been left here to die.

He came across a river. There was actually a small stone bridge spanning it, but Spencer dismounted and walked along the river bank until he found a place where the horse could drink and he could finally wash. It seemed like an eternity since he'd felt less than filthy. He stripped off and with much caution and hissing between his teeth, sat down in the icy water with his clothes on his lap. He washed the breeches as best he could, picking bits off and out of them. There was a rather nasty crust of something on the back of them and the front had started to stiffen with... well Spencer didn't really want to think about what it was. He washed the top as best he could and then carefully washed his hair too. He was still a long way from clean but he felt better for the dip. That night he huddled naked under a tree as his clothes were laid over a bush to dry. The air was hot and dry... yet the water had been so cold! Spencer decided that come morning... or daytime... or when it got lighter he would wash again... dress and ride back to the bridge. If there was a bridge there must be someone who needs it. Therefore there had to be people.

Sleep should have been difficult. He was feeling terrible panic about what might have happened to Floyd. He was naked. He was in a strange place and it was dark! And though Spencer was an adult and though he might have known better had he been someone else, Spencer did know that there were monsters who lived under the bed... in the closet, lurking in the shadows... usually they were called Floyd, but occasionally they were Isgar... or failing that, something actually monstrous – yet Spencer did sleep. Probably not for long, but it was becoming light when he woke up with the side of his face pressed to the ground and his knees pulled up tight to his chest. That idea of having a wash now didn't seem like such a marvellous thought. Instead he pulled his now dry clothes back on and sniffed at his arm pits. He stank... there was no getting away from that! But he stank of himself now and not someone else's shit... and that was a very good start.

Something _rawked_ from the tree he'd been under and this time Spencer could see that this thing _was_ a bird. A huge grey thing which he couldn't put a name to, and it seemed to be looking at him as though pissed off that Spencer had woken up and wasn't going to be dinner. Another good reason not to wash again. He was feeling more exposed now that he was dressed, in this bright lilac daylight, than he had felt when he'd been naked.

'Where are you, Floyd?' Spencer held his hand at his brow to shield the light from his eyes and looked back the way he'd come. All he saw was grass, a few trees and more of those large grey birds. He had some bread, some cheese and a bit more watered down wine, and then made his way back to the bridge.

Despondent. That would have been a word Spencer could have used to describe his world. He'd been given one simple task, to show resistance and he'd most likely killed the only man he'd ever loved. Why didn't he just punch him? Why didn't he just say _no_? Why didn't he throw his dinner or kick him in the shins? Why go so far? At the time it had seemed like the only thing he _could_ do. Anything else and Floyd wouldn't have even noticed that it had been done. And if he had, he would have hit back, but harder. He rode slowly this day. His butt was still aching from the days before. More things flew above him. The lower, darker things were the ones which looked more like bats and it seemed that birds flew much higher.

'What do I do now?' He asked the horse as he clopped over the bridge. 'Go back? Do what Sam had said?' Spencer spat... partly because there was no one there to tell him it was a disgusting thing to do and partly because he had a horrible bitter taste in his mouth and couldn't swallow it back. 'Do what Sam tells me once, and I become his dog.' Spencer confirmed with himself. 'Floyd would understand that. He'd not expect me to follow Sam's orders. He'd know why I carried on.' That didn't put a hold on the misery of his situation. He thought how he loved to press his face into the back of Floyd's jacket when they were on the bike. The thought of the times they sat and read together. He snorted a bit of a laugh thinking of the times Floyd had almost cried with sadness over the mess produced by him, Spencer, when trying to cook. He thought of that skull. The scratches on his door. Of Levin and the heartless way Floyd had killed him. He thought of curling up with someone pressed against his back... keeping him safe. That delicious smell... that man smell and musk. He thought about those times Floyd had chewed on cloves because Spencer had complained about the smell of his breath. And he thought of the times Floyd had taken drugs and laid there on the floor bleeding from the nose and drooling from his mouth and he'd trusted Spencer. And the trust then had been real. And Spencer had never done anything to him as he slept... except maybe steal a small secret kiss... or touch gently... but he'd never hurt him. He had been trustworthy in that respect... and now he wasn't. He'd betrayed Floyd. He'd at the same point betrayed Sam. He'd stood and watched Floyd kill Levin, so all in all... if you look at it like that – Spencer had betrayed them all.

He dismounted and threw up. He'd always considered himself loyal, but it seemed that he'd been deluding himself all along. He'd just never been given the chance to betray to this level before. For a short while he just stayed hunkered down with his head in his hands, but doing nothing was not going to get him anywhere and he knew that much. Sam had said he'd not survive alone. Sam maybe was correct, but so far he'd managed. It was whilst down off the horse and looking at the ground that he saw something he must have been blindly looking at for hours or maybe even days! Tracks. Cart tracks, hoof tracks... in the road. Maybe it had been since the bridge? He had no idea! How could he have been so observant in his job yet not notice important things like that when it was actually right under his nose! He jumped to his feet and had a quick look around. What else had he missed as he rode along the road in his self imposed misery. A misery he fully accepted and didn't expect to leave him. This meant he was at least moving in the right direction. There was nothing but abandoned and broken buildings in the direction he'd come from; not for days back so he must have been heading the right way. He licked his lips and mounted up again, this time determined to be more aware of his surroundings. This was undoubtedly a very dangerous place and he had to pull him self out of this funk and at least try to prove Sam wrong about his survival chances.

A cottage with smoke coming from a chimney.

It was a few miles away yet, he guessed... and off the track. He'd not have to get too close, but it was the first sign of intelligent life he'd seen since he left the settlement. But with intelligent life came all the bits which drag themselves behind it. At the crossroads was a gibbet with a very fresh and bloated thing stuck inside of it. Birds – real birds were pecking at the flesh between the bars. The eyes were gone, actually most of the face had gone. Intestines were draped through the bottom of the cage and swinging around with a cluster of things pecking and snapping at it. Spencer felt bile rise in his throat and the idea that this might have happened to Floyd brought out a small yelp of alarm. He dug in his heels and rode hard until the squawking of the birds was out of ear shot and the a small sprawl of buildings distracted him from what he'd seen.

A gibbet was the very last place Spencer wanted to end up. It didn't matter if he was already dead when they put him in one. It wasn't where he wanted to spend his eternity. He didn't stop at the settlement. Small children cat called and threw stones, which just made the horse go faster. Something caught Spencer on the shoulder but the initial sting soon left. Panic seemed to have dulled all his senses for now at least.

There were a lot more signs of habitation now. Not only the small farmsteads and tracks in the road, but the occasional broken something laying at the side of the road... a wheel from a cart with weeds growing through the spokes, the old remains for a camp fire... nothing alarming, but enough to send a shiver of dread through Spencer. He had thought that being alone had been a problem. There was hardly any food left in his saddle bags... but each night he had been able to sleep somewhere and feel almost safe. Now though, now there were people around there was less chance of finding somewhere abandoned and quiet – somewhere safe to sleep. No one paid him any heed though, not since the children who had thrown stones. A small copse off the to side of the track had bodies hanging from trees. At first, with a stomach churning fear, he thought they were scarecrows... how insane was he to be glad they were just dead people with swollen purple faces and part of their legs missing where animals – he hoped it was animals – had gnawed on the dead. Now there were rolling hills unfolding in front of him. The track wound its way through them with other tracks snaking in from all directions. The ground was hard as stone here and the gulleys made in the ground from the carts were deeper. More than once he saw things standing watching him. Human looking things with rough clothing, just watching him... not calling to him. Not moving... and Spencer wondered if they were statues, until one of them stepped back out of view. Were they waiting for someone who looked as though he had money, riches... something worth taking? He didn't for one moment think they left him alone because he appeared to pose some kind of risk. If one of them had a weapon and came at him with it, there'd be little he could do to defend against it, but ride faster. A cold finger of alarm crept down his spine making him move a bit faster. What were they waiting for? It was almost as though they had been expecting him. Which was more insanity on his behalf.

The light was fading when he rounded a particularly large hill and saw in front of him the distant and high walls of a town... maybe a city. In front of the tall dark walls were tents much like he'd seen before, bright colours, small, large... some pavilions were more like houses or in some cases palaces. Flags fluttered... fires were lit. People were wandering around. There was the sound of laughter. The sound of dogs barking... the sound of life. Spencer pulled the horse to a stop and considered his options. He could turn back. He could keep going... Two options and neither of them filled him with any hope or joy. He eased the horse on again, hunching his shoulders and keeping his head down, as though it would make him invisible to the people, who as he got closer, paid him no attention at all. There were lines of horses tied up... and the smell of something cooking assailed him like a punch to the stomach. He needed to eat something – something other than hard bread and sweaty cheese. Yet he had no money. He had only the horse and that was his transport. He couldn't trade it for food. At least not until he was desperate.

A few small dull coloured tents were on the right... they seemed to become more fancy and expensive looking the closer to those high walls he got. He was looking at one coloured blood red with golden tassels waving in the breeze, his attention gone from the road for a moment when someone stepped out and grabbed the bridle.

'With me.' A voice spoke quietly.

Spencer's head turned to look so fast that he heard his neck give an alarming _crack._ He looked down and saw a face grinning up at him. A familiar face. The face of one of the hunters who had approached him and Floyd in the bar. The ones who wanted Sam.

'I don't think so.' Spencer dug in his heels but it seemed that his mount was more inclined to do what this ginger haired man was telling it to do.

'Do I look like I care what you think? With me... Your very life might depend on it.' The man grinned again. 'They don't accept sex for payment here, boy. You'll never even get in the city gates without show that you've money.'

Spencer dismounted outside a dark green tent. The man in long robes tied the horse to a post and pointed in the direction of the tent opening. 'We need to have a conversation.' He tapped Spencer on the arm with the end of the staff he was carrying. A light tap, but one which warned of worse things which could be done with it. 'Quickly now. It's getting dark. You're late.'

Late? How can he be late when he didn't even know he was coming here? How did this man find him? Surely it couldn't have been coincidence... could it? He ducked down under the entrance to the tent... lanterns were set up on posts with hooks on the end. The one eyed man was there, sitting at a table covered in letters and scrolls. He looked up and gestured to a seat. This man didn't smile though. This man looked a long way from friendly.

'Where are the others?' He was looking at Spencer with that one green eye... a look which demanded that he paid attention and looked back... and answer the question. The other was closing the tent flaps and tying it shut. Not good. Not good at all.

'I don't know.' Spencer replied.

'Of course you know. You're not stupid, though you've been doing a very good impression of moronic behaviour recently, but no... I know better. You're not stupid... cowardly – disloyal and treacherous, but you have intelligence.' The other man put a jug and three beakers on the table and sat down next to the one eyed man. 'So...' the one eyed man continued... 'You're alone in a strange land with no money and no clue as to what's going on. This is what confuses me, Spencer. You don't mind me calling you that do you? Where is Isgar and his hybrid spawn?'

'They're already in the city.' Spencer lied. 'Waiting for me.'

'OH! He's been learning, Tracey... he's been practising his lies. They match his outlandish cowardice though.'

Tracey? The one eyed man was called that? Spencer frowned at him and then looked back at the younger one, the one in robes. 'I'm not lying. He's already here.'

A scrap of paper was now pushed in front of Spencer. 'You see...' Tracey said, '...this message lets us know that you're on your way. It also lets us know that you're alone. It says that Isgar and Sam are to follow... so where are they? It's a simple question.' He poured drink into the cups and placed one in front of Spencer. 'Answer the damned question!'

Spencer shook his head. 'You seem to be the ones who know everything. Surely you must know where Isgar and Sam are. That is assuming that I'm lying and they're not already here.'

'Which they're not.' Tracey said as he ran a finger along the rim of his cup. 'Have a drink. It's not with you I have a problem. It's not you with the... _contract _on his head. I really have no care for you either way, but I will have you tell me why you are here alone.' Tracey sneezed, his hand jerked and knocked his cup of drink over. 'Gods teeth! Denzil get this creature out of here. Take him to Wonny and get him washed and get rid...' Another sneeze, '… get rid of his damned horse!' Another earth shattering sneeze.

Denzil and Tracey. What a couple of heroic names! It made Spencer think that his own name wasn't quite as bad as he'd always thought. Denzil seemed to have already arranged the sale of his horse. He took it to a man in a green tent, exchanged the horse for a small pouch of coins and motioned for Spencer to carry on walking towards the main gate. He handed over the coins and gave a small shrug when Spencer looked to see what was there, but he had nothing to compare it with, so had no idea if this had been a good exchange or not.

'It's going to be like this.' Denzil said as he tipped the gate guard and directed Spencer to a tall wooden house which seemed to be built against the city wall, but on the inside. 'Wonny will get a bath sorted for you. Wash your hair. Get cleaned up. You might never get a chance to wash again so make the most of it.'

Spencer gritted his teeth. 'Was that a threat?'

'Oh yes. Take it as that. You're just another flea. Something to pinch between my fingers and pop out of existence or maybe shit to wipe off the bottom of my feet. I'd not even blink if told to dispatch you. So don't let my easy going attitude to life fool you.' He prodded Spencer towards a door.

He wondered if he should be running. Floyd hadn't liked these two and he felt like a lamb walking to his slaughter, but he didn't know this place. He didn't know where to run to. He had no one. He had to play their game until he knew what it was they wanted.

It appeared for now it was just to get him clean. The person who they called Wonny, was very tall, very broad and very ugly, though Spencer thought she was probably not much out of her teen years. Her dark hair grew in patches on her head... she had very deep set dark eyes, set too far apart. Her chin was mannish and square. Her teeth were filed into points. Her fingernails seemed to have been replaced by claws which she could retract into her fingers. Her voice was rough and croaky... and her breath stank of garlic. She was dressed in knee breeches and a baggy grey shirt and had a sword at her side and a knife strapped to her hip. She didn't look like someone Spencer was going to mess with. Denzil tossed a few coins at her and she snarled something back and spat in Denzil's direction.

'Just don't kill him. It's a bath he needs not a funeral.'

'The little mouse shouldn't come here giving me orders or he'll get trampled under foot.'

Denzil didn't reply to that but told the strange woman that she had a couple of hours and to get the job done properly this time. What _that_ meant, Spencer dreaded to find out but as it was all that happened was Wonny got a bath ready for him. Told him to strip off... had a good laugh at Spencer's expense and then was scrubbed with some force by Wonny and a scrubbing brush.

'Makes me wonder.' Wonny said as she threw fresh clothing in Spencer's direction. 'Makes me think that I might not be so bad after all.' She gave him a big grin. 'Are they all so small down there where you come from.' She waggled her little finger at him. 'You'd not satisfy me. I'd have to pull your cock out by the root to get it big enough for me.' She then gestured at the door. 'The boys will be waiting for you out there. Making sure I'm not doing what I'm not meant to do.'

'And what are you not meant to do?' Though Spencer thought he already knew.

'Drown you.' She motioned towards the big brass tub. 'Sit on your face and give you a surprise!' she snorted a laugh and told him to get out.

Next he was escorted to another room in the same building. A large room with a small table set in the centre. There was a window which had been shuttered and candles in holders around the walls in little glass holders. Tracey sat at the table with Denzil standing next to the closed window. The door had been shut and locked. There was nowhere for Spencer to sit. He was told to stand on a yellowish spot on the floor. For now he did as they'd asked. He thought that things would change later.

'Where is Isgar?' Tracey asked.

'I don't know.'

'Where is Sam?'

'I don't know.'

'Where is The Seraphim?'

Spencer felt his brow crease slightly. 'I... I don't know.'

'You left in the company of three. Then the number seemed to drop by one. Now you're alone. I know Isgar. I know that he'd not let you go; not willingly, so you're going to tell me exactly what happened and how you got away from him.'

'I'm telling you no such thing.' Spencer said as he picked at the hem of his shirt.

'Where is Isgar?' He asked again as though he'd not already asked.

'I told you. I don't know.'

Tracey picked a letter opener off the desk and started to clean his fingernails out. 'I know what you told me and I know it was a lie. I can sit here for a week if I have to. Can you stand there for a week? No... no I'll tell you now that you cannot do that. You will answer my questions. Where is Sam? Where is the Seraphim? Where is Isgar? How did you escape them?'

Spencer gritted his teeth and stood his ground. He was going to tell them nothing.

By the time Tracey had eaten his dinner, had a drink and read some of a book, Spencer's back was beginning to hurt. His head was pounding. His mouth was dry... Denzil had stoked a fire and the room was sweltering hot. Sweat dripped down Spencer's face and into his eyes. His lips were cracked and dry and stinging, but he was not going to tell them what they wanted to know. He'd betrayed them once. He wasn't going to repeat that.

'I don't know.' Spencer heard himself say as the room began to slowly spin around his head. 'I don't know...' and in a way that was truth. He didn't know.

'How did you escape from Isgar?'

That was a question Spencer didn't reply to... nor did he reply to the question over where Levin was.

'I'm a good guy.' Tracey told Spencer. 'I work for the powers of... er...'

'Peace and chaos.' Denzil let him know.

'That's right... I work for peace and chaos. Whatever I have to do to get that, then I'll do it. I will double cross, I will lie, I will kill. I will do whatever it takes to get what it is I need to move a step further. Now... Denzil here is different. I'm happy to question you until you fall down. I will wait until you wake up and ask you to stand and I will begin to question you again – but Denzil here is not so patient. Denzil is not so caring. Denzil is not going to stand by and let you recover when he could be pulling out your fingernails and breaking your toes. He's quite good at his job. A slither of metal here... a slice of something there and you're going to tell us what we want to know. Now... Please stand still. Don't move from that spot. Where is Isgar? Where is Sam? Where is The Seraphim? How did you escape? What are you doing riding alone? Where did that horse come from?' How many hours did Tracey repeat these questions? Spencer had no way of telling. He just knew that the room was expanding, contracting, spinning and the voices were becoming a buzz in his ear... like an annoying insect.

Tracey clicked his fingers and Denzil stepped forward. 'You're a fool.' He sighed. 'Just tell him what he needs to know. Save us time. Save you a lot of pain.'

'Never.' Spencer muttered as the floor finally came up to meet his face.

His headache was back when he woke up. He was on the floor of the same room, at least that's what it seemed to be. But in a horrible and somewhere terrifying mirror of what he'd done to Floyd he was pinned down. Thankfully, not by nails in the hands, but with his hands through metal loops which were in turn nailed to the floor. His hands were above his head and his legs spread in a way that he could offer no protection to himself.

As soon as his eyes blinked open, the questioning started again.

'Where is The Seraphim? I have reports that he was not with you when you arrived in the last town you were in. So... you are going to lay there and you are going to tell me where The Seraphim is. We'll start with something easy. Where is The Seraphim?' The question was accompanied by a swift kick between the legs delivered by Denzil. Spencer howled as the spike of agony washed through him. He wasn't going to tell them... he owed Floyd at least that much... didn't he?

'Where is The Seraphim?' This time a kick in the ribs.

By the time Spencer screamed out that The Seraphim was dead, he had lost some fingernails, one back tooth, the little toe on his left foot had been smashed with a hammer and a Denzil had started dripping hot wax on the tender skin of his stomach. He was still dressed... small mercy! But his wrists and ankles were a bloody mess where he'd been struggling to free himself and his shirt had been pulled up to expose his stomach. A drop of wax had landed just above his hip...

'He's dead!' He finally howled. Denzil stood back and Tracey moved forwards and hunkered down next to Spencer.

'Dead? How? Details.'

'Floyd used him as... he... Floyd...'

'Floyd killed him? OK... let's move on. Where is Floyd?'

Spencer spat out some blood and heaved in a sobbing breath. 'I don't know.'

'Sorry, but Isgar wouldn't have just let you go. You must have done something for him to permit you to leave. I'm not stupid. As I said, I know Isgar. I know that he'd be willing to kill something like The Seraphim, at a pinch even Sam... but you? No... no that doesn't feel right to me. He'd not let you go unless he couldn't stop you. And so I ask myself... Why couldn't he stop you? What happened to him to prevent him from hauling you back to his side? That's curious, don't you think? If someone told you the same pack of lies would you believe it? Where is Sam? He's the one I'm after. But before I go chopping that little freak's head off and tearing out his internals... I want to make very sure that Isgar isn't around and I have a great feeling about this! So... sleep on it. We'll be back tomorrow.'

A rough and very itchy blanket had been thrown over him, but the fire was still burning brightly and the room was much too hot. Spencer thought that if he dared sleep, then he'd never awaken again. The heat would suck out the rest of his life and he'd end up wherever it is dead people go to in hell. A deeper hell, he assumed. A hotter hell. A far nastier place than this, which seemed more like a purgatory than a real hell. He had just come to the decision to sleep and die and have it over with when the door opened again and that tall monster of a woman, Wonny, walked in. She let him sip water out of a cup and she fed him bits of greenery... it tasted a bit like boiled cabbage. She stoked up the fire and added more wood.

'Please. Let the fire die. It's too hot.' Spencer asked in his nicest voice.

She blinked at him and knelt at his side, licking her lips. 'They're my employers. They dragged me from a real bad place. I do what they tell me to do and I won't have to go back. So the fire, it stays stoked and don't even think of asking me to release you.' She patted the side of his face. 'I'll be back later. More water?' She offered the cup again and Spencer sipped some more. It was foolish, he was aware of that. He was just going to make this whole ordeal last longer. 'You should tell them what they want to know.'

'I won't betray my friends.' Spencer told her after the delicious cold water had coated his throat.

'Then you should have stayed with them.' She gave him a small smile. 'They just want the one they call Sam. Tell them where he is and they'll let you go. Simple.'

'I can't betray my friends.'

'You should maybe give it a go. Either you left them, or they left you. Either way you didn't want to be with them, or they abandoned you... you see how it works?'

'I'll not.'

'Well you have already said where The Seraphim is. You told them Isgar killed him.' She settled down with her legs crossed and wiped a cool cloth over Spencer's forehead. 'Why did he kill him? Will he return? Did he give him to fire? Did The Seraphim burn?'

Spencer was about to say he did... but changed his mind. He shook his head slowly. 'Floyd – Isgar – he cut his throat.'

'Oh.' She got to her feet and took a step back. 'Really? Truth?'

'Truth.' Spencer confirmed and it was true.

'I'll be back later.' She gave Spencer a small smile and was gone from the room in a flash. It seemed important that Levin had died that way. Thus Spencer decided that the final plunge into the lava would be kept a secret. Yes he'd told them something. But now he was going to have to back peddle and try to make it right again. Then again his good intentions and what actually seemed to happen were not the same. He was sure that he'd not sleep. He was hot, sweaty, dehydrated and in pain. The tooth extraction had been done by Denzil and Spencer thought that the nasty little man had extracted teeth quite a few times. He did it quickly and shockingly it didn't hurt as much as he thought it should. That aside, he was still too uncomfortable to sleep. He had cramp in the back of his legs and an itch on his arm which he couldn't reach, yet he closed his eyes just for a moment and the next he knew he was being woken up by someone pulling off the itchy blanket and telling him it was morning. It was Tracey, the older of the two men, though still not old as such, just well worn. He was holding a slice of what looked to be apple and sitting on the floor next to Spencer.

'Good Morning.' Tracey gave Spencer a sideways smile. 'Apple?'

'I wasn't sleeping.' Spencer muttered and nodded at the same time. A bit of apple would be lovely. Tracey slipped the slice between Spencer's lips and stayed sitting there watching him chew carefully. 'Thank you.' Spencer managed to say. It was maybe the most apply apple he'd ever had the pleasure of eating. 'That was good.' Talk to the man. Keep talking to him. That was the way to go now. 'Do they grow locally?'

'No.' Tracey rested his elbows on his thighs as he leaned forwards to get a better look at his captive. 'Not even vaguely local. But I'm not here for you to question me.'

'It was just a general enquiry.' Spencer quickly added. 'I didn't see any apple trees on my way here.'

'You'd not. There aren't any. I'd have called you a liar had you said you'd seen some. But that's not why I'm here, to talk of apples and the local market produce. You spoke to Wonny last night. You spoke to her of Levin – The Seraphim. Isgar slit his throat?'

Spencer sort of did a shrug. It wasn't easy and it hurt his shoulders which had been pulled back in the same position for too long, but he just about managed some movement. 'He did.' If Tracey wanted more information he was going to have to beg for it.

'You like pain? Silly question. You'd not be with Isgar if you were adverse to it... then again – I see you and I don't see him – maybe you tired of the pain? Tired of him? Come, tell me. What did he do to make you run off the way you have?' He flapped a bit of paper next to Spencer's face. 'I have word. He's on his way. Injured. Wounded most dreadfully, but he's on his way and he's still with Sam, so... he's looking for you.'

'He... he's... how would you know that?' Spencer turned his head to look at what Tracey was waving at him. A bit of curled up paper about the size of a post card. There was writing on it, but Spencer couldn't read it.

'Messengers. Birds. Faster than horses. So... now I am going to ask you again if you like pain.'

'Let me read it.' Spencer squinted at the squiggles on the paper but he couldn't make out even one letter.

Tracey unfurled it and held it up for Spencer to see. It looked to be the same writing that was in the book Floyd had been reading. Not a language Spencer knew. 'Ah.'

'Ah... indeed. He'll be here in a week. If there's no hold ups. Do you have any idea of the torture Denzil can put you through in seven days? You'll never walk again. Your shoulders will never be attached to your arms. You'll be a cripple with smashed bones, no eyes or teeth and that pretty nose of your will probably be feeding the dogs. So you see we have to rush this now. We need to know how you got away from Isgar. Did you hurt him? Did you put him out of action? How did a scrap like you manage to do that to him? He's quite – how can I put it – not really someone you want to go against face to face unless you have a fine trick to play and I think you did that. I think you know his weakness. More apple?'

'No.' Spencer turned his face away.

'Last chance Spencer. Last chance for apple and last chance to tell me what you know without having to bring in Denzil and his pliers and other little tricks.'

'Go to hell.' Spencer spat at him.

'I'm already there – and I should let you know that it's completely by choice that I am. I can leave whenever I want. Wouldn't you like that too? We could trade secrets.'

'I'll tell you nothing.' He was feeling bravery he had no right to feel.

'Maybe you'll think it over.' Tracey got up and left the room without another offer... and without looking over his shoulder.

'They ride slowly.' Denzil announced when he walked in the room a few minutes later. 'Sam, who is the target, it seems is un-injured, and Isgar rides like an old man or is being transported. It's still not quite as clear a message as it could be.'

Spencer ignored him.

'I'm going to have a better look at your chest today. I'd ask if you mind, but as you cannot stop me... So he killed The Seraphim by slitting his throat? What reason did he give for that? They are both of the light. They both hold that light inside them. I'd have thought The Seraphim would have bonded quickly with Isgar... but he was young and foolish.' Denzil ripped open the front of the shirt Spencer was wearing and then stood back to have a better look. 'If the man survives... Isgar... I'll call him a man for ease of understanding, if he survives this then he's going to want you back... whole. But damage is necessary as you'll not speak unless you're in pain. We had proof of that yesterday. I'm going to burn you. Brand you. Brand you with these.' Denzil held up some small branding irons. 'There are five of them. Different letters to spell out a word. I'm very sure that Isgar will delight in reading what it says. You see that's where we can work together.' The small branding irons were each about two inches across where the letter was. Denzil waved the W in Spencer's face. 'Across the stomach. Every time he fucks you he'll be reminded of what you are.' He stepped over Spencer, stoked the fire and put them into the flames to heat. 'They don't even have to be all that hot. Human skin burns easily. Tracey can tell you that. You've seen his face. Burns are really vicious things and a little bit of work can cause a hell of a lot of pain. You can stop this at any time. Just open your mouth and start talking. Tell me how you got away from Isgar.'

'It wasn't Isgar I was running from.' Spencer spat at Denzil's back. 'It was Floyd.'

'Same thing. Same person.'

'No. Not the same. Very different. They might look the same and talk the same but Isgar wouldn't have cut The Seraphim's throat. That was Floyd.'

Denzil turned around and frowned down at Spencer. 'And what would have Isgar have done?'

'Burnt him. Killed him with fire.'

Denzil's face did an odd twitch. 'You are playing games with me Spencer. You said Isgar cut his throat. You said that. You deny that you said that?'

'I said it thinking that they're the same person, but they're not. So whatever trick I may or may not have used to get away from Floyd would not be the same trick you'd be able to use to get Sam away from Isgar. There is no trick though. You're mistaken.'

Denzil left the room in a rush of robes. Had Spencer managed to put doubt in his head? He hoped so.

Tracey started up with the questions again. The branding hadn't yet happened, but Spencer was aware that Denzil had left them in the fire. One wrong word and he'd have WHORE branded into his stomach for the rest of his life, or death – however you wanted to view this existence.

'Tell me the difference between Floyd and Isgar.' He was tapping his fingers on the wooden floor as he spoke. Denzil was eating apple slices, watching and listening. Spencer declined to answer that question.

'You should know.' He told the man with the eye-patch and the tapping fingers.

'I'm asking your opinion.'

Spencer saw that one green eye flash in Denzil's direction. He needed to say something of use. Something to stop them burning him. 'It was Floyd I fell in love with.' And as soon as he'd spoken he knew that he shouldn't have said that.

'You abandon the man you love to gang rape and abuse? I'd hate to know what you do to those you don't love. Those like Sam for example? Levin?'

'I didn't hurt them.'

'No you hurt the man you love and you're going to tell me how you managed it.'

Spencer turned his head to look at Tracey. 'You need to know that I'm not telling you because I don't want you doing that to Floyd or Isgar – whatever name you put on him. I'm not going to put him in danger. It's not because I care for Sam, because I don't. If it was just that then you might get what you wanted from me, but not like this. I'll not be forced to give you information that will hurt the man I've already betrayed once. And that was an error. A mistake. He will probably kill me for it when he can and I'll accept that, but I'll not give you an inch of information on how or why it happened. Not even to get Sam out of my hair.'

'I think we should castrate the mother fucker.' Denzil spoke in a soft voice. As though he was discussing which flowers to put in a vase. 'At least it will get Isgar riled enough to make a mistake. He's going to be one angry fuck when he arrives.'

'Just brand him. He obviously likes his boys free of their balls or he'd not have castrated his dog. It's a good point though.' There was a pause as Tracey lit a pipe and sat back watching Denzil prodding the small irons in the fire. 'But as far as I've been able to tell, he's not even fit enough to ride a horse. The latest tells me that Sam got a cart and loaded his master onto the back and is riding here as quickly as he can. It'll be a few more days yet though. Time for him to heal up some. And I'd rather have tackled the old goat when he was weakened. Having said that... he will be weakened when Spencer here tells us what he did to over power the monster. Regrets are terrible things, Spencer. I regretted having a night of passion with a wood nymph... look at the result.' He gestured at Denzil. 'But regrets are sometimes the mistake. The regret should be that it wasn't done sooner. So I'll just sit here and watch. Denzil does a good job. Don't squirm too much or the lettering will be smudged.'


End file.
